So I guess I'll tell you all about my weekend. I got hit by a drunk driver on the highway.... and then he ran. Obviously I'm OK seeing as how I'm actually sitting here typing. But the story is pretty interesting actually....

Sitting home bored to tears on Saturday night, I finally decide to head down to the Majestic at 12:30 AM. After two beers there I head over to the Rocket Bar (with Seth and Joe from the Magi) for last call. I down two more there and decide to call it a night, but not before a quick stop in at Del Taco. After the 3 AM bars let out on a Saturday night, Del Taco is to say the least full of drunken assholes in the drive thru line. After waiting about a half an hour for food and then scarfing it down in the parking lot, I hit the highway for a night of peaceful sleep.

So I jump on the on ramp to highway 40 at McCausland to find an older model Dodge Caravan doing a brisk 5 miles an hour and swerving like mad while attempting to merge on to the highway. So I finally get on the interstate, jump to the middle lane, and pull up next to the driver of the van just long enough to take a look at how drunk he was and give him a dirty "What the fuck asshole?" kind of look, and then I continue on my way.

Apparently the macho juice kicked in on this dude who was previously doing 10 MPH on the highway, cause now he's doing about 70 MPH and he's right on my ass. As I was approaching the always crowded (well at least crowded for 4 AM) Brentwood overpass, I noticed some cars merging on the highway in front of me. One of them quickly jumped two lanes of traffic and was instantly right in front of me (remember I'm in the middle of three lanes). So I hit my brakes to give myself some room between myself and the car in front of me. I guess the drunk dude tailing me in the van wasn't such a fan of using brakes. Rather than slowing down along with me, he attempted to pass me on the left without braking.

"WHAP!!"

I felt the jolt and knew instantly that the van had hit me although I didn't have any clue as to what extent the damage was. The driver of the van however, must either not have known he hit me or not cared that he did considering he continued on his merry way without even breaking pace. Keeping my wits about me I instantly dialed 911 on my cell and begin to slowly (and carefully) creep back up to the van (which was now straddling the dotted white line as if he couldn't choose a lane). By the time I had given the dispatcher the 20 second version of what happened and he put me through to the Richmond Heights PD, I was close enough to read the van's Illinois license plate number. Once I was sure they had his info completely correct, I did the right thing and gave up chase, pulling over to wait for the cops so I could fill out a police report.

I inspected the damage and found that he had actually clipped my rear quarterpanel and not actually rear-ended me like I thought originally. But in the dark corridor of highway 40 between McKnight and Clayton Rd, it was hard to really see much. Before the police arrived, I quickly threw an unopened 6-pack of beer that I had bought earlier that evening into the trunk so I could all together avoid any questions about my own sobriety (by this time, after only 4 beers which I had finished several hours ago, a nice belly full of Del Taco, and the adrenaline jolt from the accident, I was sober as a judge anyway). When the police arrived, we did the whole license and insurance dance and I then detailed exactly what happened to the officer while he inspected the damage to the vehicle. About halfway thorough the report I heard a call come over his radio that the suspect had been pulled over just off the highway on Ballas Rd. He told me to lock up my car and jump in his cruiser so that he could take me to identify the suspects vehicle.

While we were in the car on the way there, he asked me if I got a good look at the driver and I told him that indeed I did (thanks to my slowing down to mock his drunkenness). He looked to be of Hispanic descent and around my age with short black hair. When we arrived on the scene the details of my story started fitting together with the facts like a well played game of Tetris. My description of the car was dead on, (make, model, color, and even approximate year) and the driver was indeed Hispanic. If fact he was so Hispanic, all he had was a Mexican drivers license (oh yeah, it's getting better). He spoke no English, and had no social security number. There was no record of him as a resident of the state of Illinois or Missouri. Of course he had no proof of insurance either. To say the least, INS was notified soon after he was pulled over. The cops were discussing how "lit" he was as one officer put it. I overheard someone say that he blew a .2 something on the portable breathalizer test although I'm not too sure how accurate those are.

Creve Couer police (who nabbed him) then transferred the guy to the custody of the Richmond Heights police (where the accident occurred) and they hauled him in. I waited around for the tow truck with the other Richmond Heights cop who then drove me back to my car, about an hour and a half after the accident happened. What a fun night.

Case closed I say. I'll probably never get any compensation for the damage to my car, which after further inspection in the daylight and a good powerwashing at the car wash turned out to be nothing more than a slight dent and a series of horizontal paint marks and scratches. At least I wasn't hurt, or anyone else for that matter. After all how often do get to say you were involved in a hit and run accident on the highway at 4 AM caused by a drunken illegal Mexican immigrant?

- these thoughts flowed through Jeff's fingers @ 11:20 PM