Frankly, We Don’t Care Unless It’s a Write-Off.

aka "Near Death Experience - pt. 2"

So, I’m sitting, freezing my nuts off in a ditch, with my car now covered in about two inches of snow. I’m wondering why I never took the Dundee road, through to Aberdeen, then home. Maybe I’m an idiot, right? However, this is neither here nor there. As I’m sitting there contemplating these thoughts, my phone starts ringing. It’s currently sitting at 8% battery life. I answer the phone, and it’s some idiot called Mark, who’s “phoning to arrange a pick-up of your car.”
He tells me on no uncertain grounds that I must assume my car is damaged, otherwise “we can’t arrange a recovery.” He then tells me my car will be taken to the nearest garage, instead of home. He also tells me that when my car gets there, it will be securely locked up, and I’ll have to make my own way home. He also tells me that because I’m “under 20”, I have to pay “an added excess” of £250. Is it just me, or are insurers really taking the piss? I could understand if I had previous claims on my insurance for getting myself into silly situations such as this. I could appreciate if I had points on my licence from speeding and whatnot, as it would probably have been a given that I’d been dicking about when the car spun into the path of a lorry, and ended up down an embankment. But no. I was driving at 30mph, in heavy snow, and took evasive action to avoid any accidents or collisions.

So, I agree to all the bullshit, because quite frankly, I want to fucking get home, or get warm. He asks what road I’m on. “I’m on the A9, travelling north.”

“The A9? Where’s that?” of course, I’d forgotten that all these call centres were based in either Poland, India, or fucking Timbuktu, so when I said “A9”, I had mistakenly assumed he even knew where Scotland was on a fucking map.

“The A9… it’s a major road, between Perth and Inverness. I was travelling towards Inverness. “I see, okay. And could you please tell me whereabouts you currently are?”
“I’m apparently at Dalwhinnie.”
“Dalwhinnie? Erm… could you spell that?”
“d.a.l.w.h.i.n.n.i.e.”
“d.a.l..?”
sigh…

“sir, are you near any towns, or is there a roadsign nearby?”
now, there was a big fucker of a road sign sitting about 20metres from where I’d left the road. Unfortunately, I was facing the arse-end of it. And the lorry was blocking it when I’d passed the damned thing.
“erm… there’s a road sign about 20metres away…”
“That’s good, would you be able to see what it says?”

So, I trek through the foot-deep snow, up to a road sign, in freezing weather, only to find…
“It says 60. It’s a huge fucking sign that says 60.”
“I see, is there anything else distinguishable about where you are?”
“I’m about 20 feet away from a railway line.”
“Yes, I’m aware of this, sir. I’m actually looking at the railway line.”
Now, why the FUCK was he inspecting a railway line to see where I was?! I was in a fucking car, numbnuts! Are you fucking retarded???

So, eventually, I’m pinpointed on the system to “within 10minutes”, and am told that the recovery vehicle will be an hour.
“Anything else, sir?”
Knowing full well this muppet had wasted my battery life by keeping me on the phone for 23minutes and 54 seconds, I said no.

And then my mum phoned. Apparently, the deal was that I would pay £770 to get my car recovered, and then locked up, and then sent to a BMW specialist, and then repaired. I only fucking agreed to the claiming on my insurance, because he said I’d ONLY have to pay it if my car was DAMAGED. Bastard! Lying bastard!
So, we cancelled the recovery truck, told my insurance to get tae, and I was told to get a lift to the next town, “take your fucking laptop!” and wait and see what we could do.
The second I stepped out the car, a lorry driver stopped, and offered me a lift, and dropped me off at the nearest garage, where I was told I should be able to get a reasonable quote for getting my car back on the road, and be on my merry bloody way. I was quoted £80, which, given the circumstances, was fine by me. So I phoned my mum using the garage’s phone, and I’m currently sitting in the Star Hotel [not Starfruit, sorry JME] in Kingussie, waiting for my parents’ friend to come and take me home on his recovery truck. Here’s hoping he doesn’t do what I bloody did!