When I was 17, I had my first (and only!) accident. I was picking up a friend at a car repair place in a part of town I wasn’t terribly familiar with, and, concentrating on finding the place I needed to pick her up at, I crawled along at about 15 mph. However, I failed to see a stop sign, and so sailed through an intersection at 15mph. I got tagged in my back end by a woman who had the right of way.
Damage to my car: negligible-to-none. Just a scuff. The rear bumper might be a 1/4" out of alignment, but you couldn’t really make me swear that it wasn’t there before the accident.
Damage to her car: There’s a small dent in her hood; it looks like someone hit it with a small hammer once or twice.
She immediately says, “oh, you don’t have to worry about it, we don’t have to call the police!” However, I insisted.
See, we were in front of the police station. We’d already had someone offer to help us. So I said–in my somewhat naive teenage way–that, no, we had to report the accident, and took us inside the station to do it. Of course, the reason she didn’t want to report the accident quickly became clear: her driver’s license had expired ten years ago, and she didn’t have insurance. Whoops.
Then, a few months later, she tried to sue my insurance company for damages due to injury (I was assigned primary-but-not-complete fault, on the basis of, yeah, I ran the stop sign, but I was going 15 mph). However, on the basis of the police report (my account stated that she didn’t want to call the police in the first place, and that we were walking about immediately afterwards) and the pictures, it was quickly dropped.
Of course, I got a ticket for running that stop sign, and I guess I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t reported the accident. I suppose if it happened now, though, I still would; were I sued unfairly, I’d rather have the documentation. But I still feel sort of bad about it, even after all that.