Let me say right upfront that I am fine.

Yesterday afternoon I was in my Prius at a red light,
and I watched a woman use the cross walk in front of me.
She was dressed in business clothes, dark blue form-fitting blouse
and blue slacks that showed off her full hips.
Her blonde hair was shoulder length and slightly kinky.
She carried a purse over one shoulder and held a Subway sandwich bag in her hand.
A six-inch sandwich.
I thought, "Wow, it’s pretty late for lunch."
I glanced at my clock and it said 2:55.

Just as I wondered if the woman always ate lunch that late or whether it was
such a busy day she couldn’t get out of the office any sooner, I was hit from behind.

Lots of adrenaline and shaking ensued.
I pulled off the street into a parking lot,
followed by the guy in the minivan who’d hit me.

More shaking.
I wrote down my name and insurance carrier and policy number
and gave it to the man.  He gave me his card so I could do the same
but I was shaking so much I asked him to do it.

I couldn’t read his name as written so he spelled it out for me.
He didn’t include his insurance carrier until I asked.

After he left, I realized his policy number was a bit scribbly,
and I wasn’t entirely positive I was reading it correctly.

As I sat in my car waiting for the adrenaline to wear off,
I felt some tightness in my back below my shoulder blades.
I decided to be smart and call my insurance company just to let them know
what had happened in case it turned out I was injured.

Here are some of the pieces of information they wanted that I could not provide:
Man’s license plate number.
Man’s phone number.
Man’s address.
Man’s vehicle identification number.  (VIN, really?!  How about a DNA sample while I’m at it?!)
Description of man’s vehicle including number of doors and presence of child restraints/car seats. 
(I told her I didn’t know about car seats but that there was a black dog riding shotgun).

So I guess the moral of this story is . . . what?
That Tracy should make a little checklist to keep in her glove compartment so she’ll remember to ask for the obvious next time?
That writers are incredibly detail-oriented up until the point of suffering a trauma?
That Tracy is never going to get a job as a detective?
That Tracy should cut herself some slack and give herself points for having the guy spell out his last name AND
include the name of his insurance carrier?  I mean, imagine the embarrassment if I hadn’t been able to supply that basic info.

Writers be warned: your brains might not function at their usual levels after getting rear-ended.
Cheat sheets are highly recommended.