At the scene: apology reads as evidence
"I'm so sorry" is human; in a comparative-fault state it's a percentage, and percentages are money. Check on people, call 911, trade information — "are you okay?" is compassion; "I didn't even see you" is a closing argument.
The recorded statement: decline it
Their adjuster calls within days, friendly, "just needs your version for the file." The recording exists to be mined — speed guesses, minimized symptoms, gaps to widen later. You're not obligated. The full script: "I'm not giving a recorded statement. Please communicate in writing." Your OWN insurer is different — cooperation is a policy condition — but even there: facts, never guesses.
"I'm fine" — the two most expensive words in injury law
At the scene, on tape, or to a coworker who later gets deposed, it undercuts the injury that surfaces on day three. The honest, safe version: "I'm getting evaluated." Symptoms go to doctors — all of them, every visit; whatever isn't in the records, insurers treat as not real.
Online: assume discovery
Beach photos, gym check-ins, a cheery "I'm okay everyone!" — all become exhibits against your pain-and-suffering claim. Post nothing about the crash, your health, or your activities while the claim is open. In a town where everyone's feed is the beach, this rule earns its keep.
What TO say, everywhere
Facts without characterization: where, when, vehicles, damage, witnesses. Direction of travel, not speed estimates. And to a pressing insurer: "you'll have my documentation." Already said too much? Context is recoverable — it's one of the first things a lawyer repairs, and the rest of the early playbook is in the first-24-hours guide.
