We’re coming up on the second anniversary of my mythical car crash. If we’re being honest with each other, I would have preferred not to be reminded, but I’ve had little control over this scenario.

For instance, I was driving down I-30 through the Downtown Dallas canyon this afternoon. Another driver spotted the WBAP car, said to herself, “Hey, that’s the guy who was in that crash! I should swerve into his lane for old times’ sake!” She would then swerve into my lane, hit the car and, for my convenience, speed off.

The paint was just smudged a bit, and I started following her as I called the station.

Even in the middle of this situation, I still had the presence of mind to open the conversation, “Good news! This time, I wasn’t hurt!”

My program director did not find that particularly hilarious. He also didn’t care for me giving him a play by play of the other driver making her way to the far left lane and speeding off as I tried to follow her.

“Don’t try to be a hero,” he explained.

“I wish I knew how to do that,” I responded. Or I would have responded if I had thought to say that more quickly than several hours later. “Aaaah!!” is probably a more accurate account.

I pulled off at the next exit and took pictures of the car, but I would then learn that if you don’t pull over right away, the police won’t come and investigate. I went to the nearest station and filed a report for insurance.

You’re never too old to learn.

Even when people aren’t crashing into me, I recently had a debt collector check to see how I was doing and also ask for $21,000.

Apparently, one of the anesthesiologists during my many, many post-crash surgeries never got my insurance information and was mailing invoices to the wrong address.

So my credit score is currently 3.

The debt collector asked if I remember being anesthetized on three dates in December of 2014. I said that I do NOT remember ANY of the times I was anesthetized. I also missed, I explained, normalization of the US’ relationship with Cuba, DeflateGate and when I got out of the pokey, gas was cheap.

This isn’t the debt collector’s fault. I’m sure we’ve all seen news stories, or covered news stories about swearin’, angry debt collectors who call in the middle of the night, but this lady just seemed like she was doing her job. You know, a job she wasn’t passionate about.

I can’t imagine many li’l girls tugging on their dad’s pant leg, saying, “Paw, some day I want to be a debt collector!” The little girl in this scenario is from Little House on the Prairie.

I was told they couldn’t file a claim now because of the insurance company’s “timely filing” rules. The lady at my insurance company who answered that call was perfectly pleasant also.

Everyone’s just doing their jobs. I’d like to propose we all just get together for lunch one day and talk this whole thing out.  I’ll need one of you guys to pay, though. I’m $21,000 in the hole.

So as we head into the holiday season, I’m going to ask everyone for a few favors:

1.) Please stop hitting me with cars.
2.) Please stop calling me and demanding $21,000.
3.) Please rename Allen Avenue, where JPS Hospital is located, Alan Avenue. I did make a donation to the organization of more than a million dollars. If TxDot needs money to change the signs on I-35W, I know a debt collector who now has some extra cash to spend.

In return, I’ll stop talking about the car crash every Fall.