by Barrington Smith-Seetachitt

The other night, my husband Paul and I went to a networking event at a bar in Hollywood. We were waiting for a red light on La Brea when, BAM, we got rear-ended. We were in no danger of going through the windshield, but it was more than a gentle tap.

After the initial curse word followed by a sigh, I pulled out my notebook and a pen. Okay, when the light turns green, pull over, but watch for his license plate if he comes cruising past us.

But the driver, in an older model Audi, pulled over as well.

Before we got out to inspect for damage, Paul asked Did you feel that in your back?
I mean I felt it I don’t think it’s whiplash. What about you?
I felt it.

Paul’s student health insurance expired in August, and of course there’s nothing like being uninsured and unemployed excuse me, I mean freelance to make you a little antsy about such things. We inspected our back bumper and the angle of the trunk and decided it looked okay. Paul approached the driver, Let’s just exchange licenses and numbers in case something comes up.

The driver was immediately defensive, Why do you want to do that? It looks fine!
Just to make sure so if in the next couple days
Why don’t you just call the police then!
Paul looked at him in surprise, Is that what you want?
Sure if you want to make a big deal call the police, I don’t care!
I could see Paul getting pissed. He pulled out his phone. Fine, I’ll call, but you understand I don’t want to do it like this.
Me neither, I’m in a hurry, but you have to make a big deal.
I walked over to the window.
Mister, we’re not trying to make it more than it is, but sometimes with injury or damage you don’t know for a couple of days, we just want to play it safe. We can just swap licenses and phone get phone numbers and get on with our evenings.

The drive shrugged as if surrendering the fact that we wouldn’t give up on our unreasonable request. He reached over to his glove compartment, pulled out the wallet full of paperwork and started rifling through it. Does he keep his license in his glove compartment? I wondered.

After another minute he was still playing his fingers across the edges of pieces of paper, but hadn’t pulled anything out.
We don’t need an insurance card, I said, Do you just have a driver’s license?
He looked at me, I am foreign
Is this an immigration problem?
Yes.

Paul and I looked at each other. Obviously we didn’t want to get anyone deported over a bumper car situation on La Brea Avenue. On the other hand, he was the one driving an Audi, while Paul and I are still sharing a used Hyundai and don’t have a lot of extra cash lying around for chiropractors.

I sighed. Look, you’ve got a name and phone number, right?
Of course.
Just write them down. You’ll probably never hear from us.

He scrawled his info in my notebook, and drove off. I jotted down the plate number as he passed, then looked at the name and number he’d written. Victor ____ and an 810 area code, which is Michigan.
We watched him drive off, and as Paul and I set off again for the Velvet Margarita, we wondered what Victor’s story really was. Was he really illegal, or had he been drunk, or driving with a suspended license or just worried we would call and harass him for money? Was there a chance he had given us his real information, or was his name actually George and I was holding the number for Dial-a-Prayer in a Detroit suburb? Had we succeeded in acting fairly and kindly, or had we just got took?

It’s a few days later, and all’s well that ends well at Chez B and Paul, the car is running fine, and everyone’s spines are in working order. In another week I’ll jot a shopping list on the back of the page with Victor’s number, he’ll quit worrying about getting a call, and everyone will forget.

But a little harder impact would have threatened our physical and economic well-being, and jeopardized Victor’s home, his livelihood, and maybe his family’s life as well. Every so often, a nudge to the bumper reminds me how easily life can change.

takepart and play the ICED Game to get a virtual connection to the Immigration experience

and takepart with the Visitor

(Photo: svenwerk’s flickr photostream)