That Crazy Time I Thought We Were Going to Jail or Getting Stabbed...aka Yesterday!

On the morning of our first anniversary (this Tuesday), Mitch and I went out for breakfast. We reflected on how awesome things were, and how everything was just dandy.

...The universe took offence.

"Oh hey Claire & Mitch! The Universe says...FUCK YOU"

About 10am I get a message from Mitch...He was driving north on Dufferin at Dundas, a wide load truck swerved into his lane, he braked, and a girl on a bike behind him lost control of her bike and fell.

Being a nice guy, he stopped, helped her up, helped her get her bike, walked a block over to get her friend to take her home. When she asked his name, he told her, but she wanted to write it down and did not have a pen. Mitch suggested she take a photo of his driver's licence. She did.

Mitch and I reflected on the dangers of biking in the city, he reminded me to be careful on my daily bike ride to and from work, and I remind him that cycling also requires cyclists to keep a proper stopping distance. We high-fived (figuratively or literally, your choice), and went out for our first anniversary dinner.

Wednesday morning: we get up, have breakfast, go to work, come home, go to the gym, shower, and are just getting ready to go out and meet friends when...


--RING RING--


The doorbell rings. I have just stepped out of the shower, Mitch is still in his bathrobe. We decide to ignore it, assuming it is door-to-door Mormons (again).


--RING RING--


Okay...Whoever it is, they want to be attended to. Mitch goes down to the door in his bathrobe and sees the woman he assisted the other day, with her left arm in a sling (no cast). Assuming she wants to thank him for his help, he opens the door. THEN he sees the giant man with a ponytail standing beside her and frowning.

"Do you remember me?" she asks.

"Of course." Mitch says.

"I have some medical bills." she says. And flashes a piece of paper at Mitch.

"...Ok..."

"I am not covered by OHIP*." she says. "They charged me $270.00." *OHIP is Ontario's socialized medical coverage.


"...ok..." Mitch is wary...

"What do you want to do about that?" She demands.

"...Well, I don't have anything to give you." Mitch replies cautiously. Weighing whether or not he can get inside and lock the door before her frown-y friend can crush his head...

"Well, you should talk to your insurance." She insists.

"...What do you think happened on Tuesday?" Mitch asks.

"I don't know, I fell." She says.

"...I don't know what you want me to do." Mitch says.

She exchanges numbers with Mitch. "I will call you tomorrow to see what is happening." she says. Then she and her hired goon leave. It is 8:45pm.

Mitch and I are concerned. ...To say the least.

The next morning at 10am, Mitch receives a voicemail from the woman saying:

"I will be filing a police report today, but I wanted to talk to you first. Call me back at xxx-xxx-xxxx."

Mitch calls her back.

At this point, she demands that we give her $270, cash, or she will be filing a police report. Mitch points out that he never hit her, and which points she becomes...agitated. Stating that "she has witnesses" (she doesn't) and that she has "security footage from the bank" (there is no bank there).

Mitch calls me, I call Toronto Police Services. They advise me that that is extortion and that only police seizure or a court order can procure bank footage...so she is obviously lying. They tell me to have no further contact with her, and that IF she files a police report, we will be able to give our story.

Several hours later...the police call. This woman has told them that Mitch HIT HER WITH HIS CAR (our car has no dents, scratches, NOTHING), and that we have been ignoring her calls, etc.

We have never had so much as a speeding ticket, let alone being contacted by the police for information on what sounds like a "hit and run" charge.

We proceed to shit bricks.

The police constable was...gruff...to say the least. And not in some charming 70s cop drama way...just regular type.

"She says you hit her. She has a bruise on her knee." He says. (I notice that her arm is not mentioned...perhaps there was no sling when she went to the police...? Interesting.)

"Well, probably, she fell off her bike. I stopped because there was no one around to help her."

Mitch explains what happened. The cop listens.

Then Mitch & I explain how they came to our house demanding cash (but never saying he hit her), then left a voice message telling us to get in touch or they would contact the police, and THEN (after we refused to give them money) how she called and said he had hit her with the car and she had footage and witnesses...obviously, none of which materialized.


The cops eyebrows shot up rather quickly.

"Do you still have that voicemail recording?"

"Yes." I replied.

"Don't give them any money." he said.

"Oh my god, no, of course not!" I reply.

He then types up the report, comes over to us and says "Don't worry, you did nothing wrong, I've explained to them that they are not to contact you in any way, and all I am doing with this is saying that the truck that nearly hit you left the scene of an accident."

So, you're not going to throw us in jail forever? So, we're not going to be murdered in our house by scary ponytail men over $270? Squeeeeeeeee! :D


We go home. I have a stress migraine. We go out and have a beer.


After much relaxing, Mitch points out that he is not cut out to be Heisenberg from Breaking Bad. I agree that I am no Jesse. Then we go home, and resolve to never help anyone again.