After multiple warnings from my mother, jokes from my sister and the occasional eyebrow raise from my father...I had my first fender-bender.
Driving home after a somewhat gross day (woke at 6:30 to a migraine that left me curled around the porcelain throne for a while. I even convinced my professor to host class in the dark, for the whole 2 hours.), I managed to connect the front end of poor Iris, my car, into the back end of none other than a LEXUS...
Fabulous. I sat in my car thinking, "I hit someone. I hit someone and I crunched my car. I crunched my car by hitting someone. My car hit someone and is not crunched, killed.I KILLED MY CAR!" No matter how it was worded, it was bad all over...
Well, the upside was that I wasn't going fast at all and the guy was really nice. No yelling or screaming. Maybe he decided to take pity on me--I mean, I looked like death with my hair all crazed from lack of product (head hurt too bad to care for that morning) and the humidity (oh, it was raining, too). I had no contacts in, no make-up, looked as pale as a little white ghost--I'm not even sure if I was wearing the same two flip-flops.
I stepped out of the car, made sure the man was OK--he was--and then, slowly, I turned to inspect the damage. My hood was crunched up and the grill was definitely broken. Picking up the Toyota decal that popped off my car and onto the pavement, I let out a little whimper. I tried so hard not to let my upper lip start to quiver. That plan was blown out of the water as soon as I called Dad.
I know we had been over what to do if you're ever in a wreck, but all I could remember was "CALL DAD." So that's what I did. Called Dad and blubbered on the phone about how I was OK, but the car wasn't and I was so sorry and the guy was fine and I don't know what to do, yadda yadda yadda.
As I sobbed on the phone to Dad about how wrecks happened to Sarah, not me (Sorry, Big Sister--I've officially registered as a member of "We Wreck 'Em" club. I tried to hold off for so long!), I attempted to wait "patiently" for Mr. Police Man to show up and write a report.
I pulled myself together, ready with insurance and license in my hand, no tears. I was going to be an absolute grown-up about this.
Then he asked if I was OK...oh sweet jeebus.
The water works started all over again and poor guy, he must have thought I was a nut. He checked my car over, made sure I was OK to drive home and didn't even ticket me--which, by the way, was the LAST thing on my mind. Hadn't even anticipated that on top of my insurance going up, the damages on my car to be fixed, the damages on HIS car to be fixed, that I would have had to pay for a ticket. Thank you, Mr. Police Man for being so kind to this crazed woman.
So my car is crunched. It will now be the one in parking lot that no one will park next to because it's been in a wreck. It's like my car has leprosy--stay away from the bad driver! She'll hit you, too! Ah man...I'm now THAT car that no one will want to play with...shoot.
But as I have been reminded, cars are fixable. Good thing no one was hurt (other than Iris). From now on, I'll be driving like an 80 year old woman, 2 car lengths behind everyone else and breaking 50 feet ahead of every stop sign. I'm a changed woman...well, driver.