Hit and Runs are Meant for the Baseball Field not the City Streets

Today, I write in regard of the disappointment New York City bestowed upon me. For the first time, I was angered and saddened by the city all at once, and I found it hard to really describe what I was feeling inside. I guess I felt betrayal by the city which I treat so well: Park my car on the correct sides of the street, refuse to litter my banana peels each day on my walk, follow all traffic warnings, remember not to turn right on a redlight because it's against the law in New York City--that's right I treat the city with the utmost respect. But apparently that's not enough to bring good karma to your car all the time. Thank goodness the car was still driveable in daytime.





When I approached my car and saw that someone had hit it--and ran--I did the only things I could think to do. I cried. I called my dad. I cried. I called my mom. I cried. I texted friends cursing NY drivers. I called the cops. I called to cancel my Rhode Island trip. I cried. All I could think of after the whole process of the police report (in which the cops essentially laughed at me when they saw the damage and then sarcastically asked if I knew what tape was so that I could tape my car back together), was the Dane Cook piece where he talks about car accidents and how everyone wants to be part of the action when one happens. However, this was not the case after the hit and run that caused the front left panel, front left headlight, and front of my bumper to crack and pull away from the car. I could have only been so lucky.

Here is his piece: