Here’s hoping my auto insurance provider doesn’t read this column, lest the Trujillo family graduate to a higher rate bracket.
Let me explain:
Unlike some whose names appear often in the Optic’s jail log, I have been issued only four traffic tickets in my long life. One was for rolling a stop sign on Mills, way back in 1955, when making my morning delivery of the Denver Post. My mom and I delivered that massive newspaper every morning to homes and a sprinkling of businesses
For the Sunday Post, we found that by removing the back seat of our car, things fit well. Anyway, I rolled a stop sign and got ticketed. Fine: $5.
I received two tickets — a week apart — when I worked in Gallup in the early ‘60s. I rolled a stop sign, got ticketed, and the SAME THING happened a week later: different cop, same location, same $10 fine, in the days when a ten-spot equaled a day’s wages.
Ticket No. 4 came the same day I had new tires installed, a bit bigger but longer lasting, they said. I argued, politely and acted somewhat victimized, that the larger circumference of the tires made the car go faster without affecting the speedometer. Didn’t matter.
I’ve never caused an accident nor received a ticket for that reason. The fender benders I’ve been involved in have been in, truthfully, resulted in the other guy’s getting ticketed or else settling by having the other driver’s insurance pick up the tab.
But the entire scenario isn’t quite that simple. Three instances of auto damage give me a batting average of .333 (and here’s where I hope my insurance carriers avert their eyes). A few years ago, on I-25 near Watrous, I was following a pickup truck when I noticed its tailgate was down and a 50-gallon empty barrel rolling around. The barrel came out, danced along the highway and grazed the rear door of my car.
When I stopped the driver, he grumbled and said he didn’t feel like going after the barrel — which at the moment might have represented a hazard — but produced his insurance card, from the same company as mine. And we got the repairs taken care of.
Another time, a 16-year-old with only a learner’s permit was out riding with several younger family members. She caused a collision that I’m sure totaled her car and left ours with heavy damage.
By the time the scared occupants of that car arrived home on foot, their story had been changed from “Someone stole our car” to “That man (meaning me) drove in to us.” In the ignition were the keys plus a full set of house keys.
And more recently, a driver of a big pickup backed into our new car in a school parking lot. Same result: No insurance, and even though the other driver received a ticket, also for having an expired license, he used the “poor me” approach. “I don’t have any insurance or money so I shouldn’t have to pay.”
We’ve reluctantly weathered these financial storms, each time wondering why honest drivers need to buy insurance for the other guy. My unscientific research on the matter convinces me that large numbers of people fail to get insurance, or when they do, they let it lapse.
Why is it that in other states, if someone fails to purchase insurance or if that person lets the policy lapse, the motor vehicle departments receive the news almost immediately?
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Now that the New Mexico Legislature is in session, we read of Gov. Susanna Martinez’s seventh attempt at denying drivers’ license to people in this country illegally.
Hasn’t the good governor realized by now that denying licenses to non-residents won’t stop people from driving? Despite my abysmal .333 batting average, I’d rather get rear-ended by a licensed driver who has a greater chance of actually having liability insurance.
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Did you ever notice that auto insurance applications often ask, “How many accidents have you been in . . .” and the tail end of that question reads, “regardless of fault”?
That question puts the innocent party in the same bag as the one who caused the damage. Maybe some agent will explain the nature and purpose of that question.
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Fred Padilla, a native of Las Vegas and ‘70s graduate of West Las Vegas High School, sent an email (slightly edited) that commented on my recent column on mayonnaise. Padilla lives in North Carolina but grew up here.
“During my teenage years I grew like a weed, or a pinavete, (depending on who you asked) and surpassed the 6-foot-tall mark. Back then, Chicanos over 6 feet weren’t very common, and folks would comment on my height with the usual ‘How’s the weather up there?’ Most would ask my secret to growing this tall.
“Our family on my mother’s side, the Uriostes from Tecolotito, had reunions every few years. I got the same comments from relatives, as I was probably the only one there over 6 feet.
“At one reunion in La Manga, as we waited in line for lunch, my sister Irene, who was near the front of the line, yelled, ‘Fred, there’s your favorite – pinto beans, but there’s no mayonnaise!’
“It seemed that everyone was staring at me and in unison responded with a big ‘What?’ Irene told everyone there, ‘Didn’t you know that Fred’s secret to growing so tall is that he adds a teaspoon of mayo to his bowl of pinto beans?’
“I picked up quite a following from my younger relatives and quite a few have grown over the 6-foot mark. And if you ask any of them their secret, they will attest to ‘Fred Padilla’s Secret To Growth.’
“Today I stand at 6’5″ and weigh 275 lbs. My grandson just turned 13, stands 6 feet tall, 165 lbs. and loves that mayo.”