The Rude Driver

Today could’ve been my typical Wednesday but it didn’t happen that way. On my way home, someone hit the back of my car. And to make matters worse, he didn’t bother to stop at the side of the road to check the condition of my car. I motioned to him to get to the  nearest petrol station. For a while, he seemed to follow but he drove off. (I even have a picture of his car and his car registration number. I had a good look at his face as well. He was sitting next to a lady who’s also wearing spectacles. He looks like he’s in his 30s and the lady, probably late 20s. When I honked, they refused to look my way initially. When she did, she hurriedly looked to the front and ignored. So now, there’re some scratches at the back of my car and a tiny hole.

So, to the owner of that driver, I do have your car registration number in the photo. And there’s even a “P” sticker on your car. The fact that I didn’t go to the police station to report you doesn’t mean you are in the right. It saves me the hassle of claiming from your insurance and the saves me from the inconvenience of being car-less if I send the car for repair. You really do not deserve a car. If you had paid attention, that “accident” wouldn’t have happened as my car was stationary and so were the other cars in front of me.  After what you did to my car, I don’t have the mood to bless you. In my mind, I visualise you facing a series of flat tyres (plural) incidents every time you speed until you know it’s totally uncool to hit and run.



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