A funny thing happened to me on my way to work this morning, in the form of a car wreck.  The circumstances and the events are a pretty good story, worth telling I would say.  So I’ll tell it. 

I had just left home not a few minutes before, and was still driving through my neighborhood.  It’s a small town.  I was approaching the intersection of 2^nd and Morris.  Yes, Morris.  Yes, there’s a street named after me in my town.  (It’s not named after ME personally, of course, but after my family.  Imagine the surprise of the claims agent when I told her the accident occurred on a street with the same name as my own.)  I stopped at the intersection, because I had a stop sign and that’s what you typically do in that situation.  I used only my peripherals to see if anyone was coming, because it was a four-way stop.  Everyone has to stop.  No one was there, and I continued through. 

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a car to my left.  And it was MOVIN’, man.  Not in a freeway 75 MPH sense, of course.  But in a neighborhood where you should be going about 15 MPH on that road, it was traveling.  At least 35 MPH, I would say.  And not only was this individual speeding towards this intersection, but he was apparently intending on speeding THROUGH this intersection.  Without stopping.

Well, I stopped him.  With my car.  Unintentionally, of course. 

He hit me on the driver’s side at the wheel and back door.  The force of impact spun my car around 180 degrees, where I skidded to a rest facing the complete opposite way I had been and on the completely opposite side of the road from where I started.  Up against the curb.  I had been violently parallel parked against my will. 

As I was spinning, I caught a parked car out of the corner of my eye (to my left again, as I was spinning counter-clockwise), and I braced myself for a second impact.  None came, but I had to have only missed that parked car by mere feet if not inches.  After I came to a stop and my common sense and analytical mind took over once again from the instinctual and panicky mind, I began making sure I was still in one piece.  The other driver, who I now saw was an older man, was already out of his car, standing in the middle of the road, and screaming at me in a way I didn’t like. 

“YOU PULLED OUT IN FRONT OF ME!”  He accused, along with saying other things that I cannot quite remember at this time.  I was still recovering from what had just happened to me.  But I was nearly all back, and I knew I had to fire back at this misinformed son of a bitch right quick.  I went to open my door, but it was stuck.  Well, the first time it was still locked.  (Still not all there, I was.)  The second time I had to force my way out a little bit, but it wasn’t too bad. 

He continued yelling at me as I was getting out of my car.  I turned and faced him, and spoke to him in a voice that wasn’t the frantic yelling of a crazy person (like he was), but of a pissed off individual who just got broadsided by some idiot who didn’t yet realize it was his fault in the first place.  Not to mention, I hadn’t even had my caffeine yet.  He obviously had no idea who he was messing with. 

“Point number one, man, stop fucking yelling at me.”  I said in my angry Sab voice, holding one finger up in front of me.  “You obviously have no concept of what’s just happened.”

He began yelling something about me pulling out in front of him again, before I cut him off.

“You just ran a stop sign.”  I said plainly. 

“NO I DIDN’T!”  He yelled back.

“Yes, you did.  It’s right there.”  I said, pointing. 

“NO I DIDN’T!  WHERE?!” 

I kept pointing.  Finally he turned around and looked.  His face dropped. 

“Oh…”

“Right.”  I said.  “Now stop yelling at me.” 

“I’m very sorry.  God, are you all right?”

Now you ask me if I’m all right after you realize you’re wrong.  Nice.  (I wanted to say this, but didn’t.)

“I’m fine.”  I replied, looking down at myself as if to check for gaping wounds. 

At this moment, my brother walks up.  He happened to be walking in the opposite direction from where my attacker came from, to breakfast, as this all happened.  I was directly in front of his shop.  He asked me if I was all right, and then called the cops.  I retrieved the man’s insurance card and began taking notes, while the other guy paced about.  A cop arrived a few minutes later, and the old guy told the cop clearly, “It’s my fault, I ran the stop sign.”  I give him props for that.  He’s still an asshole, but I’ll give him that one. 

To make a long story a bit shorter, my 2010 Malibu with only 2300 miles on it is now in the shop awaiting the final looks of an estimate.  At this time, I do not think it will be totaled.  The last I checked, they were up to $8,000 in repairs.  I’ll be getting a rental car tomorrow to drive until it is fixed.  It’s a bummer that my brand new car got crushed, but it’s only a car and I’m perfectly fine.  That’s the important thing. 

The fucker made me 30 minutes late for work.

 

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