Whiplash
Let's not jump to conclusions.
The dent Pavel made on Sheri’s foreign import wasn’t big, not really. Backing out of the stall, he hit Sheri’s car while she waited for pedestrians in the crosswalk.
Pavel swung open his door and headed straight to the driver’s side, screaming and motioning for her to roll down her window. She dropped it a few inches, not trusting this man who had rushed her car.
“Why didn’t you move, Lady?” Pavel asked. “Can’t you see that I was…”
“I was waiting for those people over there. I was stationary. Bigger question is, why’d you back into me?”
She grabbed her camera and purse and opened the car door. She was hunched over, and held her back as she made her way to view the damages.
“No way,” he said. “No way that I did I do that to you, Lady. I don’t know who you are, but you’re not going to trump up some whiplash charge. It’s just a small dent, tiny even. I’ll fight this tooth and nail. I’ve got a rearview dash cam and it recorded everything. I hit you but it was in no way head on and couldn’t have caused you to be in pain like that.”
Sheri snapped a few pictures of the damage with her phone. She was still hunched over and holding her back. Considering her car was 18-years-old and full of various dings, dents, and imperfections, the damage he made was negligible and wouldn’t affect resale value in the least. She was planning on running the car into the ground before replacing it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. Whiplash? Oh this?” she said, touching her back. “I just got out of the doctor’s office about this. Strained a muscle picking up my granddaughter yesterday. You must be having a bad day to think like that. You’re good. Just relax a bit and have a little patience with us older folks.”