This story has nothing to do with repurposing, nor is it a hideous art project of some sort, but it's a sensational enough tale that I feel it must be told, regardless of how out of place it may be within the Good Rubbish universe. This epic journey you're about to take follows a classic literary form in which it starts out believable, then gets really fucking boring, then becomes unbelievable and ridiculous, then ends. For this reason among many others, it may be the single finest example of American literature in the history of this glorious country. Enjoy!
ACT 1: RIDICULOUS
Shortly after noon on Thursday I found myself traveling towards the mecca of suburban sprawl that is Parker, Colorado, to make an absolutely critical purchase of old Sega Genesis games that I found on craigslist. The weather was crisp and clear, my sunroof was open, the wind was whistling through my ludicrously bony frame like a breeze through a wall of cattails, and "Africa" by Toto was streaming out of my stalwart Saab's stereo at a decibel level just loud enough to drown out the blaring rattle of my car's defective muffler, but not so loud that it would have any chance of tampering with my exemplary driving skills. Things were not perfect, but they were pretty damn adequate.
Then it happened.
Waiting for the light to change at the intersection of Parker Road and Arapahoe, some salacious broad 5 years my junior absentmindedly slammed into the car in front of her, who in turn caromed into me, leading me to lay the smack down on my homeboy Toyota Corolla, who was keepin' shit live at the front of the pack. End result: Four cars totaled, four people taken away via ambulance, one girl rendered effectively uninsurable until she turns 87 years old. Circle of life.
Now, any of you who know me personally (and considering this blog's faithful readership of about 4 people, I think we can assume that means "all of you") are well aware that a serious car accident is about the last thing I need to be getting involved in at this point, as I've failed to fully recover from an innumerable quantity of seemingly insignificant closed head injuries, charlie horses, stubbed toes, razor burned facial tissues, and yeast infections over the past 5 years. Well, while noting the fact that not enough time has passed to make this statement with any degree of certainty, it appears that I got out of this crash completely unscathed. What can I say? I guess I was due for some good fortune (note to God: You still owe me one... or fifteen).
Though I was the least mangled of the accident's human participants, my car took the worst of the collision aesthetically, so it's almost certainly headed for a scrap heap - a fitting ending to the most cursed Saab in the history of mankind (final tally: 3 hit and runs while parked outside my house in the past calendar year, two significant accidents that weren't my fault in the past 3 years, and two separate incidents in which my clutch abruptly and completely gave out while I was driving the car). In case you're wondering how I snuck out of this mess unmangled, I attribute my not dead-ness as well as my not-in-an-ICU-ness to the fact that I was searching on my ipod for a new song when the impact came, so instead of stiffening up as I saw the car behind me get blasted, I just flopped around like a 90 year old man's genitals when the hit came, leaving my spine well in tact. Thank you ipod, you've always been there for me.
ACT 2: FUCK, THIS IS RIDICULOUS
After the crash I had to wait around in my car for an hour and a half to talk to police, provide insurance information, and etc, before I could be allowed to go along my merry way. This was fine as I needed to wait for father McHanslaw (aka: my ride home) to get to the accident scene from downtown Denver anyway, but what wasn't fine was the fact that it started snowing almost immediately after the accident took place, and the impact had somehow broken the motor on my sunroof, so I had to sit there in my wind tunnel of a car getting blasted with ice shavings while the Aurora police fumbled through their paperwork. Great, grand, wonderful.
In the meantime, the grandfather of the girl who started all of this showed up on scene and started chatting me up. He was actually a pretty nice guy (though he had a nasty habit of talking to me while I was on the phone with various people of importance), but good lord did he ever have some worthless questions.
"So what happened?" - Your granddaughter tried to drive her car into my back seat.
"Well, was the light green?" - Yeah, but me and the other folks... we just weren't all that interested. Seemed kinda clichéd, you know?
"Huh, well my granddaughter thought it was green" - Well I sure hope no one's hoping to make money off your insurance company in court, 'cause that defense is bulletproof!
ACT 3: FUCK! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? THIS IS FUCKING ABSURD.
Time wore on, the girl's grandfather either drove home or perished, the police finished up all of my paper work, and my crumpled car had been loaded onto a tow truck, so I was finally free to go. My father had shown up a few minutes beforehand and was parked up near the Old Chicago's in the Arapahoe Crossings shopping center, but it was still snowing pretty hard, I had a bunch of crap to carry with me, and the intersection we were in the middle of had no crosswalk, so one of the officers offered to drive me up to meet him. A nice gesture, but it would prove to be a poorly timed one. I accepted.
Not surprisingly, the intersection I'd just spent the past 90 minutes of my life in was an absolute mess, so traffic was backed up a hefty distance in all directions, so much so in fact that we (me and the cop guy) had to wait for some good samaritans to create a lane in the wall of cars separating us from the parking lot in order for us to get through. You know what I'm talking about, right? When people will hold back from the car in front of them so that a turning car can get through? Yeah, that thing. It's a clumsy process to describe with words, my friends, I can guarantee you that.
Anyway, we had three lanes to cross, two of which were safely blocked up with cars, but the last one (an eventual turn lane) was wide open. Undaunted by the semi-dangerous last leg of our 3 lane journey, the cop guy decided to make his break for the everlasting glory that is the Old Chicago's parking lot.
I don't need to tell you what happened, but I will anyway.
As we entered that sinister third lane, I caught sight of a turquoise Geo Storm (sick fucking car, by the way) flying right towards us. I didn't scream, I didn't yell, I didn't even say "look out", I just very calmly uttered six exceedingly appropriate words: "You've got to be kidding me."
Well, it wasn't really a kaboom, the cars didn't explode or anything... I guess it was more of a "blong" noise, but I don't think that's a commonly accepted onomatopoeia. Regardless, the front end of the Geo slammed into the front passenger side wheel of the cop's Crown Victoria, predictably crumpling the hood of the Geo like a pop can while leaving the Crown Vic in fairly unremarkable aesthetic shape, though the police guy got jolted about pretty good. Excuse me, pretty well.
Some of you may recall a story about me from my more formidable years involving a new years eve party, a gallon jug of red wine, a poorly executed attempt at bathing, and a disrobed tumbled across my bedroom floor. It's commonly referred to as "that story about the time I hit rock bottom", and it ends with me doing 2 things, one of which is laughing hysterically. Well, the same thing happened here (the laughing part, not the other part... we won't get into the other part). Honestly, could my Christ administered prostate exam get any more preposterous than this? I had no other choice - I had to laugh, and robustly at that. A mighty guffaw, one might say.
Understandably, the officer in the front seat didn't seem to find things quite as funny as me, so he kept me locked up in the back seat of his car (which I couldn't get out of, since it was a cop car) for 20 minutes or so, which was great because his back seat had about 1/8th the legroom of your typical coach seat on a bargain airliner. Thanks, buddy.
After a brief conversation with some other police officer who was assigned to report the collision I was free to go, and that's how it ended (miraculously my father and I made it home without incident). Two car accidents in an hour and a half, soon to be resulting in enough insurance paperwork to drown a small horse, assuming horses don't eat paper. But all things considered I suppose I really can't complain... well, that's not entirely true, I can complain about all sorts of shit, and with just cause too, I just can't complain about these two car accidents. I walked away; I was the luckiest of the unlucky.
Thanks for reading my drivel, I hope you found it drivelicious. Until next time...
Friday, April 4, 2008
Labels: Null Set