A story very close to reality.
Maha had three specific goals that morning:
1. To be on time for work.
2. To not spill coffee on her white blouse.
3. To not think about her ex.
But she failed to achieve one of these goals even before she left her house.
The incident itself wasn't dramatic. No explosions. No slow-motion scenes. No upbeat music. The culprit was a grocery bag.
Specifically: a dangling avocado.
Maha had placed her groceries on the passenger seat. As she turned out of her neighborhood, the bag tipped over. An avocado rolled off the seat and landed under the brake pedal.
The avocado now looks soft. Gentle. Innocent.
But under the brake pedal? It becomes the most passive-aggressive obstacle in nature.
She slammed on the brakes.
The brakes pressed against the avocado.
The avocado said, No.
She gently bumped into the car in front of her at the red light.
The impact wasn't severe. Just enough to produce that familiar sound that foreshadows financial consequences: crash.
The man in front of her got out dramatically, as if he were auditioning for a role in a legal drama.
They examined the damage. A small scratch. Hardly visible. The kind that disappears in a car wash.
But here's where the real comedy began.
Because now... insurance was involved.
Maha called the insurance company. After scrolling through a phone list clearly designed to test her composure, she reached an agent named Brian—who seemed personally let down by his own optimism.
Brian asked:
Was the car moving?
Yes.
Was there an object obstructing the brakes?
...Yes.
What object?
Silence.
...Avocados.
Silence.
You could hear Brian typing slowly, as if assessing the situation.
The other driver had also filed an insurance claim. His insurance company contacted her, and hers contacted him. Assessors were hired, photos were requested, and statements were taken.
All this for a scratch the size of a fingernail.
A week later, Maha received an email with the subject line:
Claims Investigation Update
The email was three pages long.
It included the phrase "foreign interference with the product."
She rewrote that sentence.
Total repair cost? $287.
The paperwork required? Too much for a short novel.
In the end, her insurance premium went up a little, meaning the avocados cost her about $600 over the next year.
She hasn't bought avocados loose since.
Now they travel exclusively in the trunk of her car.
Securely secured.
Just like the financial burdens that It represents her.
And yes, what about the insurance? That's the most realistic part of the story. The accident is simple, but the legal proceedings are huge, and the language used is exaggerated.