The Ultimate in Ambulance Chasing

by Suzanne Poor

Several months ago we attended an academic conference in the high-class — read luxurious — vacation resort of St. Simon’s Island, Georgia. It was a conclave of 18th-century scholars who spend three days each year reading esoteric papers to each other. Never mind that the base camp of this section of the American Society of Eighteenth Century Studies is Texas; they congregate anywhere there might be sunshine, fun and exotic sights. One year it was South Padre Island in the Gulf of Mexico; another year it was Baton Rouge, Louisiana. There are hopes to go to Cuba.

Scholars from all over the world attend because in addition to learning something new about what they call the long 18th century (1660-1820), the gathering is delightful. And so it was this February. However, in the state next to the sunshine state of Florida, it rained every day. There was no pool time, no beach time, no sun-drenched walks. Visits to historic sites were cold, damp excursions. It was the same everywhere on the East Coast.

In order to get to St. Simon’s, one either flies into Jacksonville, Florida, or Savannah, Georgia, and rents a car. Or one can fly in a smaller craft into a tiny terminal on the island itself. We chose the first option, rented a car and drove north to Georgia from Jacksonville. And for the first time in our long history of renting automobiles, we declined insurance.

New friend from Rutgers
The meetings went well; I had lunch with one of the world’s most knowledgeable and acclaimed authorities on Jonathan Swift and now consider her a friend. The tiny enclave of followers of my interpretation of Swift’s boudoir poetry liked what I had to say. The parties were hilarious; the food delicious. And then it was time to leave. The rain had not let up; roads were flooding, but we had plenty of time. Then Ralph locked the car keys in the trunk, forgetting that all he had to do was pop the trunk lid in the front seat. Panic sent in until I remembered that simple solution — pop the trunk. Then halfway out of the island, we couldn’t find the cell phone and turned back only to discover it between the front seats. So, relieved, off we went again; the storm increasing in intensity.

Still within the time frame to get to the airport on time, we steamed along until about a half mile from the proper exit when traffic stopped cold. “BIG ACCIDENT AHEAD,” the overhead road sign warned. The minutes weren’t going by on little cat feet anymore; the cat had become a cheetah. And we weren’t going anywhere.

Since the exit was so close, (I was driving) we kept inching closer to the right lane with some success. That was until the overpass. I maneuvered the car into the next lane, blinkers on, watching the “big” truck next to me, when all of a sudden we heard more than rain drops on a tin roof; it was crunch as the truck’s mammoth tires scraped the side of the rented car. “Oh, #@%$&,” Ralph said. “Oh, #@%$&,” I said. We got out. The driver of the enormous truck said he didn’t see me. I said I was signaling. The rest, as they say, is history. In the rain we waited for the police; we missed our flight. The ticket seemed incidental until the county deputy said I could take a driver’s education class to reduce the fine and be assured of no points. I agreed and signed up immediately when we got back. It cost a meager $27.45 and took four hours on the Internet. I finished the course, even took notes, then passed the final exam with a 98% and received a certificate of completion, which I sent to the Jacksonville, Florida, Traffic Violation Bureau.

Solicitations from Florida
But in the meantime, I received at least four postcards inviting me to take driver’s education classes at a variety of traffic safety schools for much more money. And then the crowning blow — a letter, actually labeled as an advertisement, from a Jacksonville attorney saying that for $49.00 to $89.00 he would go to court for me and dispute the ticket.

I was impressed with the course and learned about Florida traffic laws, most of which are similar to New Jersey’s. I was not impressed, however, with the people who glommed on to me — a basically innocent driver trying to catch a plane.
We might consider offering the traffic schools here, but it probably won’t work because New Jersey already has more of its share of ambulance chasers. But who’d have thought they would come out of the highways?

Our advice and the advice from the insurance company — always opt for the rental car insurance or carry American Express premium car-rental protection. We walked away from the accident; no one was hurt. But we could have walked away from the repairs as well.

return to May 2005 Adtalk