However, I must be a female driver because it took me a good four seconds to realize that the reason I couldn't move any further and there were metal-on-metal shrieks exuding from my rear (the car's rear) was that I had indeed hit the truck behind me.
After looking both ways to make sure no one I knew would see me, I hopped out and examined the damage. I held my breath and released it only when I discovered there was but a paint scratch on the front corner of the truck. However, I'd need to find the driver and have him pull back an inch so I could move without causing further damage.
About this time, my boss's boss walked by. Oh good. Although the driver had come and happily moved his truck with a "don't worry about it," the boss's boss called the police to get the incident reported. Good thing, too, because the campus cops probably haven't had this much excitement since those two Oreos were reported stolen from a TA in the math lab.
The situation became awesome when the cop stepped down from his official minivan wearing real-life aviators.
"Here's what we're going to do," he sniffed. "I've issued the report but I'm not going to give you a ticket, because the situation's already messy enough as it is."
It seemed only fitting, what with the messiness of the situation and all, to fill out the paperwork on two bridal magazines, which the boss's boss and I flipped through and giggled at as Bad Cop checked my Driver's License.
