A few weeks ago when there was a little icy precipitation, The Kid wrecked my dad’s truck. I was pretty irritated about it because I thought she shouldn’t have been driving it with the possibility of ice. She felt, at the time of the decision, that there was no ice on the road. A few days later, she wrecked her own car. She has a history of wrecking her vehicles. Tickets too, but that’s a blog for another day.
Her recent accidents got me to thinking about my own history of wrecking vehicles. There were the three wrecks I was in that I didn’t cause…I wasn’t even driving one time. Then there was the time I backed into my dad’s car…actually, a borrowed car, it wasn’t his. I have no clue why it was there, he didn’t need to borrow a car…but it was parked behind me and I backed into it because I didn’t look. Less than a month later, I did the same thing…I backed into the preachers car. Another time, I ran a red light and smacked a chick with a hot temper. Very hot…until I got out of my car and she stood about 5’1 to my 5’8…I outweighed her by a bit, too. She took a turn for the…cooler.
There was the time I was leaving work and hit a chick in an already beat up and rusty ‘mobile. She got a pretty penny for that! I’m almost certain she didn’t fix that bucket of rust. I wouldn’t have.
But the accident that stands out most in my mind is the time I had just gotten my pretty little red car with the moon roof and mud guards, and the sporty little spoiler on the back…a five speed. I thought I was the coolest chick in town shifting those gears! One rainy day, I was headed home from college and I took a route known (by everyone except me, apparently) to be very slippery when wet. About the time I hit this downhill, curvy road, I began to slide. I lost control of my car and slid into a big ditch, landing sideways in a ravine, on the opposite side of the street. The ding-dang ditch was peppered with enough big rocks and concrete pieces to rip the bottom of a pretty little red car to shreds.
As I was sitting there, sideways in the car, it occurred to me that I was OK. A little shook up, but uninjured. Suddenly, the under-yonder of the hood begin to pour smoke. I was convinced she was going to blow! I was out of that vehicle in a matter of seconds! From a sideways position. Out like a jack-in-the-box!
By the time I realized it was only the radiator, I had already asked a guy who stopped to see about me to call the police and my dad to come help me. I was living with my parents while I was getting my degree, and as I peered into the car, staring back at me was my cigarettes had fallen out of their secret hiding place. One of my dad’s greatest dislikes. Smokers! And his daughter loved herself a long cigarette! 120’s. Menthol. Puff Puff.
I knew I’d only get grief for smoking…he’d say the reason I wrecked was because of cigarettes. He wouldn’t be happy with me, and I knew my only hope was to get those cigarettes and hide them. Without thinking, I hopped back into the sideways car, rescued the stogies, and tried to get out. And tried. And tried. It was very hard to hold a door straight up and climb out without the aid of adrenalin. I finally hooked one leg over the side and was emerging like a turtle when some chick stopped to ask me if I needed any help. I didn’t. And I didn’t need an audience. Did I mention, it was raining the whole time?
I gave up smoking years ago, thankfully. I now understand a little better why Dad hates smoking. If you live in my area, you don’t have to be afraid of my or my daughter’s driving abilities. I promise. Really.