When I graduated college I lived in my office for 3 months before my summer lease started with some friends, and I stored my junk in a friends mobile home 17 miles from town. I'd commute a couple times a week to do laundry and catch some sleep on a real bed.
Well, one morning I was on my way in and some guy in a very large (maybe F250, lifted) truck made a no-slow right on red from the cross traffic lane to my left. He was going so fast he crossed the center line and smashed into the back end of my bike.
Broken wheel, busted pannier, all my stuff strewn across the road, I'm laying there bleeding from hitting the pavement and sliding, and the guy had the audacity to get out and threaten to sue me over the repair costs to his truck.
I assessed my damages (road rash and broken bike parts, but no broken me parts) got up, and told him that I was going to throw my bike through his windshield if he didn't shut up. He sped off and even after filing a police report, nothing was ever done. I'm pretty sure he was a family member of someone on the local force. Gotta love living in a dinky little hick town.

Worst episode, ever!