Following the Long-Island-infested-Golden-Chopsticks-depravity, and charging to my Jetta at 7am to find it towed at 6am, I revisited my friend’s house, apology in hand. She mercifully roused herself enough to drive me to the tow truck yard across San Francisco. She deposited me at the tow yard, I paid $425 for my car’s release, and trailed an escort to the site my car would be driven to. Fifteen impatient minutes later, an attendant informed me my car was un-drivable and I needed to consult Claims.
When I finally beheld the car, the bumper was completely disconnected from the Jetta and rested on the pavement. The VW insignia usually on the car’s front lay on the windshield. The genius “experienced” tow truck driver attached the connectors to the bumper instead of the car’s body. When I asked how long the driver had been working to equate experienced, I was told six days.
Good news: the towing company paid for the fix, a rental car for the duration, and I added an already-cracked windshield into the equation.