So there we were last night, on our way home being dropped off from a wedding reception. Almost turning into the street that would lead to our house, BAM! Possible whiplash effects, we were disoriented and not a little bit alarmed. What happened: a flat tire?? Holy shit, what the hell...
A taxi had bumped us from behind, HARD.
The road was dark, barely illuminated by orange street lamps, with no living soul in sight. (It's a good thing my Dad was at the back; otherwise, he would have gone down immediately and beat the guy up) My grandparents' driver, slight though he is, was spoiling for a fight, and in the chaos, he would have gone down, had my mom's voice rang out: "Nobody gets off the car!" And my Dad and I both said, "Just drive! Go!" Against his pugnacious instincts, he inched forward, still sneaking side glances for that infernal taxi. I urged him on, faster, snapping at him to go, because I'd experienced what could have happened had he gone down, and that would have been terrible. For what is more valuable: a car, or a life? [It's usually the latter, FYI!]
We got home safe; quite shaken, but safe. I can still remember my grandparents' faces, trying to put a brave front, but disoriented as hell. Those bastards. Will they really stoop down that low for money?
Apparently, yeah. Afterwards, my mom said the fact that we were many (or supposedly in their terms, "loaded") discouraged them. I called my grandparents once they got home; I'm just glad we all got home safe.