On Wednesday night I responded to a non-injury collision that occurred in a parking lot. When I arrived, I contacted the driver and the woman, who was the owner of the parked car that was hit.
I asked the driver, “Do you have a license?”
“No, it’s expired.”
“How long has it been expired?”
The driver looked up in the air like he was trying to remember. He then said, “Over ten years.”
“Wow. So we’re talking at least two presidents ago?”
“Probably Clinton,” he said with a smile.
“Clinton? Why haven’t you gone to get your license back?”
“I work a lot,” he replied.
Oh brother. I’m the regular police. Not the lame excuse police.
After I was done speaking with the driver I went over to the owner of the parked car. She walked up to me and said, “My father is getting restless.”
With squinted eyes, I looked at the woman as sarcastic comments flew through my head. I kept my thoughts to myself and decided to ask her about the collision instead. I took her statement and gave her a report number.
She then had to wait a few more minutes for us to write the driver and insurance information on the report form. That’s when she again said, “My father is getting restless.”
I heard her and just ignored it. We were going as fast as we could to get them out of there. I was looking at the report form when she said, “I have to take him home to change his oxygen tank.”
Wow. I didn’t see that one coming. For some reason that was funny to hear. Good thing I didn’t say anything. I also made a mental “right click and delete sarcastic comments” note in my head.
It turned out her father was almost 80 years old. Too bad she didn’t tell me about the oxygen tank sooner.
It would’ve breathed new air into the situation.