Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Today was a beautiful day. Clear, sunny, and I was actually going to be early for work for a change.
Then CRASH! A pick-up truck slams into the passenger side of my poor poor car. My valiant little Corolla that has withstood over four years of my typical "woman driving" sat crumpled in the road ... like a paper airplane that flew into a jumbo jet.
Crazy thing is, it wasn't even my fault. I swear.
I could almost hear it weeping in pain at the foot of that four-wheel-drive bully. The truck, unscathed and unphased, glared mockingly at its imported victim. Big guns always seem to think they have the right of way.
I'm sitting there shaken like a Bond martini ... pulled over a bit and brace to inspect the damage.
My poor poor baby. My sweet sweet car. I bought it right after a boyfriend of two years dumped me for a younger woman. He had done a lot of work on my old car, so when it shat the bed I had no qualms putting it down ... happy to rid myself of anything that reminded me of the bastard. I was so excited to buy my brand new Corolla. It felt like trading in an unreliable man for an incredibly dependable car.
It has been my ticket to freedom when I've felt pent up at home, a vehicle to escape in whenever I need to get away. And I just love its shiny red ass.
When the police showed up and asked if there were injuries, I had to remind myself that he wasn't asking about the cars.
The crash just happened to occur in front of my insurance agent's office. At least that was convenient. Almost as much as when I spontaneously combusted in the shower. Sometimes you just get lucky.
I went in to set up the claim. I left with a headache unrelated to the actual impact.
The car was drivable, so I shook off the nerves and got back behind the wheel and headed to a body shop. You know how they say you should always wear clean underwear in case you get lucky? I wish I always kept my car clean in case I got into an accident. Hope they don't check the trunk ...
After all this, I still needed to get to work. I was feeling just crappy. Upset about getting hit. Upset about my car, annoyed from waiting for the police and dealing with the insurance ... so I did what any independent, strong-willed adult professional woman would do. I called my dad.
When I was 14 I broke my arm playing soccer. A girl rammed into me and I flew over her shoulder, landing wrist first. I remember hearing that awful *crack* and feeling sharp pain ricochet through my body. I sucked it up, got up and tried to keep playing ... not wanting to look like a wimp in front of the other girls. My dad came to get me and as soon as I was safely in the car and saw his look of concern I crumbled ... cried my little wimpy eyes out.
When I got into his car today at the auto body place he squeezed my left hand, said it's gonna be OK ... and I had to turn my head as those same little girl tears threatened to fall.