So, I'm backing out of my driveway on the way to work Monday and I put in the Distillers CD.
I've heard a lot of goood shit about Ms Armstrongs band, and being that Rancid used to get me through the day back in the early 90's, I figured, 'What the hell?", I'll pick it up and give it a listen. I'm about three blocks from my house and I'm noticing that the intro is pretty kick-ass, but I'm just waiting for the lyrics to kick in, as that easily makes or breaks a group ...
Oh.
Did I say brakes?
Well, speaking of brakes, as I'm waiting for cute, cuddly, lil' Brody to start a-singin', I see this blue Saturn coupe run the stop sign not five feet in front of me.
At the intersection that I'm passing through.
I'm on the other side of the stop sign, the side of the one-way stop that is not required to stop.
And I hit the brakes.
And then I hit the Saturn.
Hard.
Myself going 40 miles an hour, she going about the same.
It spun her car, in the air, at a ninety degree angle.
I hit her in the drivers side, t-boning her.
The light pole stopped her vehicle, hers stopped mine.
Mind you, I've never been in an accident before in my life.
So, I manage to wrench open my door, and I calmly address the 19-year old college girl, all sortsa shocky, with, "You realize you had a stop sign there, didn't you?"
"I stopped."
She hadn't even fucking slowed down.
My response, "You didn't even fucking slow down, dear."
Glazed gaze, staring at her crushed drivers side of the vehicle, "No, I stopped."
Yeah, you stopped when I plowed into you, genius.
"No, you didn't even slow down a bit. You totally ran that stop sign."
And then she starts to bleed from behind the ear.
At that point, neighbors that had seen the accident ran out, babbling something or other, which I can only assume were polite inquiries about our health and general well being, but which might as well have been the secrets to nirvana, as I was so out of it all I managed to do was hold up my hand to silence them, as I addressed the girl, "Sweetheart, you didn't even slow a bit, and, um, you might want to put your head back; you're bleeding."
She had a really decent stream of blood flowing down from behind the ear.
At this point the neighbors secrets to inner enlightenment became an annoying buzz in my ear, and I ever-so politely yelled, "Hey, SHHHH!!! Call 911, this girl's bleeding. CALL. NINE. ONE. ONE. NOW!"
The cops, EMT's and firetruck arrived a few minutes later and after checking me out with nothing more then random miniscule discomforts, they checked on the girl. She ended up having a swollen, bruised left arm and an earring had nicked behind the ear, drawing the blood but nothing more.
And the best words I heard that afternoon?
They came from the officer to first arrive.
I said, "Sir, I know you get this all the time, but I didn't do a damn thing wrong. She completely ran that stop sign."
His delightful answer?
Well, I'm pretty sure there were angels trumpets playing in the background, while the clouds parted, raining sunshine down on this beautiful badged member of our society, "She admitted the whole thing to me, don't worry about it."
They cited her for the accident.
Now my Izuzu pickup is a total loss, so says the insurance company.
This just plain fucking sucks, as I love that vehicle and she'd just received four new tires, all new brakes (thank God), a new starter, new door handle, and oil pan work, all this within the last two months.
I'm trying to look at this experience as somone or something was telling me that I needed to get a new vehicle, maybe make some type of change in my life concerning transportation, or something of that ilk.
And, when I'm in a good mood, this works.
But when I'm in a bad mood?
I'm fucking pissed.
Yeah, I finally got my motorcycle.
And, yeah, it's pretty rad.
But it's not yet running, and it'll require a fair amount of cash to do so.
So in the mean time, the bike has to wait and I have to shop around for a new vehicle.
I hate shopping.
And I loved my truck.
I really want to punch someone right now.
I think I'll go drink some coffee.
Nothing better then being pissed off and caffeinated.
Rock out.
PS Yeah, B, I'm still alive. Funny you put it that way. Talk to you soon.
PSS The Distillers CD ended up being pretty fucking good.
I've heard a lot of goood shit about Ms Armstrongs band, and being that Rancid used to get me through the day back in the early 90's, I figured, 'What the hell?", I'll pick it up and give it a listen. I'm about three blocks from my house and I'm noticing that the intro is pretty kick-ass, but I'm just waiting for the lyrics to kick in, as that easily makes or breaks a group ...
Oh.
Did I say brakes?
Well, speaking of brakes, as I'm waiting for cute, cuddly, lil' Brody to start a-singin', I see this blue Saturn coupe run the stop sign not five feet in front of me.
At the intersection that I'm passing through.
I'm on the other side of the stop sign, the side of the one-way stop that is not required to stop.
And I hit the brakes.
And then I hit the Saturn.
Hard.
Myself going 40 miles an hour, she going about the same.
It spun her car, in the air, at a ninety degree angle.
I hit her in the drivers side, t-boning her.
The light pole stopped her vehicle, hers stopped mine.
Mind you, I've never been in an accident before in my life.
So, I manage to wrench open my door, and I calmly address the 19-year old college girl, all sortsa shocky, with, "You realize you had a stop sign there, didn't you?"
"I stopped."
She hadn't even fucking slowed down.
My response, "You didn't even fucking slow down, dear."
Glazed gaze, staring at her crushed drivers side of the vehicle, "No, I stopped."
Yeah, you stopped when I plowed into you, genius.
"No, you didn't even slow down a bit. You totally ran that stop sign."
And then she starts to bleed from behind the ear.
At that point, neighbors that had seen the accident ran out, babbling something or other, which I can only assume were polite inquiries about our health and general well being, but which might as well have been the secrets to nirvana, as I was so out of it all I managed to do was hold up my hand to silence them, as I addressed the girl, "Sweetheart, you didn't even slow a bit, and, um, you might want to put your head back; you're bleeding."
She had a really decent stream of blood flowing down from behind the ear.
At this point the neighbors secrets to inner enlightenment became an annoying buzz in my ear, and I ever-so politely yelled, "Hey, SHHHH!!! Call 911, this girl's bleeding. CALL. NINE. ONE. ONE. NOW!"
The cops, EMT's and firetruck arrived a few minutes later and after checking me out with nothing more then random miniscule discomforts, they checked on the girl. She ended up having a swollen, bruised left arm and an earring had nicked behind the ear, drawing the blood but nothing more.
And the best words I heard that afternoon?
They came from the officer to first arrive.
I said, "Sir, I know you get this all the time, but I didn't do a damn thing wrong. She completely ran that stop sign."
His delightful answer?
Well, I'm pretty sure there were angels trumpets playing in the background, while the clouds parted, raining sunshine down on this beautiful badged member of our society, "She admitted the whole thing to me, don't worry about it."
They cited her for the accident.
Now my Izuzu pickup is a total loss, so says the insurance company.
This just plain fucking sucks, as I love that vehicle and she'd just received four new tires, all new brakes (thank God), a new starter, new door handle, and oil pan work, all this within the last two months.
I'm trying to look at this experience as somone or something was telling me that I needed to get a new vehicle, maybe make some type of change in my life concerning transportation, or something of that ilk.
And, when I'm in a good mood, this works.
But when I'm in a bad mood?
I'm fucking pissed.
Yeah, I finally got my motorcycle.
And, yeah, it's pretty rad.
But it's not yet running, and it'll require a fair amount of cash to do so.
So in the mean time, the bike has to wait and I have to shop around for a new vehicle.
I hate shopping.
And I loved my truck.
I really want to punch someone right now.
I think I'll go drink some coffee.
Nothing better then being pissed off and caffeinated.
Rock out.
PS Yeah, B, I'm still alive. Funny you put it that way. Talk to you soon.
PSS The Distillers CD ended up being pretty fucking good.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
i hope the elvis snowglobe was okay.
i hope YOU are okay.
i still laugh over the sound your truck makes (er...made) when you first started it.
wwweeeeeeeeeewwwwwweeerrrrrrr.
miss you.