OK! It’s like I posted this super sad, melancholy post & then fell off the face of the earth. My brain’s preoccupied with a few things – work, higgledy-piggledy things in my life, crazy people on the internets (do you KNOW how many crazy people are out there? A LOT.) So I’m distracted, and several of the wheels that spin on blog posts and topics have been diverted elsewhere.
I did think I should note that for all the railing and screaming and bitching about bad drivers that I do, I also try to be kind to deserving drivers. You know, like letting some poor sap in who’s gotten stuck behind a broke-ass volvo in morning rush hour. (I do NOT, however, let in the asswipes who race all the way up to the “Lane Closed” sign and then try to cut in.) And two days ago, some more schmo almost had me in his back seat because none of his brake lights worked. Well, scratch the “none” – the tiny sliver of red on his trunk worked, but nothing else. So I managed to pull up alongside him, and waved at him to roll his window down. Poor dude. He had to lean over to make the passenger window descend. I told him about his brake lights (after all, we’re all just avoiding the po-po, right? No need to get pulled over and have a coronary) and then about two miles later, I was stopped & waiting to turn & I happened to look over and there he still was, alongside and waving a thank you. Made me a little happy. Just to make a small bit o’ difference. And to maybe counterbalance all the righteous indignation I have against those who pull halfway into the intersection, as though it’s perfectly acceptable, natural even, to align their FACE with the curb, not the front end of their car. WTF? Dude, that’s an awesome way to lose the front half of your car. I have plenty of insurance, and I can draw an accident report on graph paper like nobody’s business. Oh, a quick search of my archives shows I’ve never told that story. Whups. Well, ok, here goes, really quickly (the reason this is called White Rabbit is because I’m already late for a party. Whatev! I live to be late.)
I was living in Minneapolis, and there was one street near the Art Museum that cut through a big main street at a jog. As in, you pulled up to the light, and when it turned green, you veered over to the right (or left) to maneuver through the intersection. It was a full street’s width “off” from going straight through. SO one day, I’m driving home from work (on the big main street), in the right-hand lane. (Four lanes wide, mind you.) This car pulls up to the intersection, I see the driver looking towards me, and what does she do? Pulls right out in front of me. Well, ok, holy crap, but I immediately changed lanes. As did she. Only SHE came to a complete stop & put her turn signal on to “turn left”. My front driver’s side hit her back passenger’s side, as I did everything in my power to once more careen out the lane she’d chosen, but this time, unsuccessfully.
I was pissed. And shaking. I hadn’t been going that fast – 30-35? and I got my insurance information out & right there, a little card, told me what to do. And what not to do. So these two girls get out of their car (I am so late for this party now, but I’m caught UP! In the storytelling!) and I say, “Are you ok?” And they’re grabbing their necks and whining and all up in my grill for hitting them. I remain silent. The police come. They’re unenthusiastic, it’s a fender-bender, and I’m really steamed because I’d always heard that when you rear-end someone, it’s always your fault. The police ask the girls if they’re hurt. (and me, too, but I’m filled with fear, indignation & shock and decline help.) The driver says, “Well, our necks hurt REAL BAD.” The cop asks her if she wants an ambulance. She says?
“Well, we’re on our way to look at an apartment? And we’re late already. So, can we have the ambulance :after: we look at the apartment?”
I think pieces of my body fell off as reality closed in around me and my astonishment broke off parts of my hull. I looked, with utter tongue-tied amazement at the police officer. Who at this point was out of patience. “Miss! Ambulance means EMERGENCY. I’m asking you if you Want An Ambulance NOW.” And he looked at me and we exchanged a look that said we both knew who the idiot was.
“Well, we’re late, and we need to see this apartment, so…… no.”
I was furious. And the next day, after talking to my agent, I got out blue graph paper, a ruler, several markers, and I diagrammed the scene. And sent it in with the accident report. When I got the follow-up call from the adjuster, it was the greatest conversation ever. First of all, they wished all their clients were like me, and could submit such thorough reporting. Second, it was quite clear due to the intersection, the stop light, and the damage to the cars that the other driver had actually proceeded through an intersection ILLEGALLY (my heart sang an aria when I heard that word) and that, in fact, I had done everything in my power to avoid the accident. Her insurance was liable and my beast of a Ford Escort got it’s alignment redone and some big piece of metal got straightened out, and I drove that car until it burned itself up in a fire.
I think I’d like “Don’t Fuck With Me” on my tombstone. Problem being with cremation, I won’t have a tombstone, but hell. It’s fun to think about. The other option? “She was even late for dying” – speaking of that, I have gotta go, my peeps. Tomorrow’s Friday, and a big hootenanny for that fact.
