“Hey, sweetie,” said the voice at the other end of the line. “I was in a dumb little one-car accident, but I'm fine.”
I'm glad I heard his voice before I saw the accident scene. When I traveled the few blocks to pick him up, I rounded the bend and saw a paramedic truck, a couple of curious homeowners and an overturned black truck. DH was sitting in a police car, giving information to the officer on the scene.
I thought "Well, this doesn't look good," but then I noticed something else. All the paramedics were standing around laughing. That seemed like a positive sign.
How did this happen? Well, we hadn't had any rain for a few weeks, so when some showers finally came on the Thursday before Memorial Day, the roads got pretty slick. DH was making a turn, and the truck started to skid. Instead of turning into the skid, he turned in the opposite direction to try to avoid running into someone's yard. Unfortunately, that made things worse. The little Tacoma truck spun around and bumped into the curb, and that might have been the end of the story.
But it wasn't.
Upon hitting the curb, the top-heavy Toyota began, ever so slowly, to tip over. It landed on the driver's side, in the yard he'd been trying to avoid, and he came to rest on top of a broken window.
He had climbed out of the cab by the time the paramedics arrived. "Do you need an ambulance?" they asked him. "For a few scratches? H*ll, no! Do you know what those things cost? If I needed a doctor, I'd drive myself!"
Allstate called a couple of days later to ask about his so-called medical expenses. "He didn't even need a band-aid," I responded helpfully. Yesterday he returned their latest call. "Are you going to need any medical treatment?" "Nope. The scab just fell off," he replied.
The man at the body shop said, "That wasn't a rollover; it was a tipover."