When we hit our deer, in the '64 Galaxie 500, we spun out at 55+ into the ditch and wound up back in the road going backwards. It was serious crashing. He hit my driver's side right in front of the door, trying to jump over the car. His head was about eighteen inches in front of mine. He stuck there for a millisecond, looking right at me. He was scared and surprised, and took the time to apologize for trying to live in Oregon.
We got the car back to Portland. State Farm man came out. He looked at us carefully. We told him what happened. He looked funny at us. He took pictures. While he was taking them we stood back and watched.
"Hoowhee" he says. "Well! Looky here!" That dear deer had the courtesy to leave a piece of his hide in the door joint. A little brown piece about this big. The Farmer took a close-up photo, and told us we were lucky to have that. He said we'd "get our money". We had expected something, anything, pretty much, but we were newbys to the grown-up world.
He enlightened us. If not for the hide, zippo. "No witnesses. You'd have to prove you weren't drunk, or making a zero-claim."
We were non-drinkers and felt lucky to survive; and still, we were offended. I'd looked for the deer, then and the next day. She/he was gone, and hopefully OK, but State Farm was assuming we were liars.
But they gave us Three Hundred Giant Dollars, and we put it toward a '70.
So; in the name of perfectly learned cynicism, aged well ~
save yer hide.
~ mr hide |
