Triple F

New Year’s Resolution #1: Update my blog more often.

FAIL.

Well 2011, when I said ‘bring it on’, it was really just an expression rather than an invitation for mayhem. This year definitely started out with a bang. Literally.

Last Wednesday afternoon I was driving home from work, minding my business, thinking about my dance classes I had that evening, etc. I had just gotten to the part of 501 where we were heading out of town with no more stoplights. Traffic was flowing as the speed limit increased to 55mph. I had just settled into a groove when it happened. All of a sudden the truck in front of me swerved violently to miss something in the road. What happened next now seems like it was in slow motion, but in reality was only about 1.8 seconds. I had enough time to put my other hand on the wheel, shriek, and s-l-a-m on brakes in that 1.8 seconds. And then I slammed into a Christmas tree lying in the road. A Christmas tree! Seriously? A freaking Frasier Fir. And, by the way, I think my ability to use alliteration in a time of crisis should be commended. Anyway, it was lying with the trunk facing me (of course). Did you know that when you slam into a Christmas tree at 55mph it makes the same sound as if you were slamming into a giant boulder? Yeah. It does. I immediately look in my rear view mirror, expecting to see the entire front half of my car and some bolts and important metal pieces flying through the air. Instead I see the FFF (freaking frasier fir) is now in 2 or 3 pieces, needles flying everywhere, and my underside bumper thing (or whatever you call it, give me a break this is not the time for technical terms people!) doing somersaults down the highway. Oh $h*t. That can’t be good. Here’s what happened next:

See underside bumper thing flipping down highway.

Immediately begin crying uncontrollably.

Van behind me starts riding my tail because I’m still putting on brakes.

Hello stupid van man driver! Did you NOT see what just happened?!

Van man driver doesn’t care. Curse at van man driver while still crying.

Look for place to pull off the road.

Wonder if I should go back and retrieve said somersaulting underside bumper thing?

Crying turns to sobbing.

Pull into turn lane to go back and retrieve somersaulting underside bumper thing.

Start pulling off and hear terrible sound of metal scraping scary sounding bad car sound.

Sobbing turns to wailing.

Abandon underside bumper rescue mission and head for the nearest parking lot. At this point I’m imagining something very important hanging down from underneath my car and scraping the road sending sparks flying in every direction.

Put car into park. Wailing and hyperventilating. Call Dad.

Try to speak English.

Explain situation. I think I said something like this: “I hit something in the road and it made a loud noise and my car is BROKEN and DYING and waaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”

I refuse to get out of the car at first to look at the damage, but finally Dad makes me get out and look.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Stuff is bent and cracked and missing and broken.

I spend the next 45 minutes waiting for Dad to come. I pass the time by cursing at my phone (because of ALL THE TIMES for my internet not to work, it is not working. Facebook anytime I want? Sure! Google in times of emergency? Nah), calling my mom (to get the number for the Durham Sheriff’s Dept. because I refuse to call 911 and say that my “emergency” is that I hit a damn tree in the road), calling Ashley (to figure out what I’m going to do about my dance classes that I am most likely not going to make it in time to teach), and continuing to wail, hyperventilate, etc. And of course no one answers the first time I call the sheriff’s dept., so not only have I spent forever trying to get my phone to work, and then in the meantime seen 5 different deputy cars drive by, now that I finally have the number no one answers the phone. I call back again, and someone answers. Telling her what happened is no problem. Trying to tell her where I am is more challenging. I pulled off the road at a lawn and garden type store and was in their parking lot. The nice dispatch lady didn’t know what I meant when I gave that vague description. Who knew?

Nice dispatch lady: what’s the name of the store?

Me: Um, hang on let me see.

Nice dispatch lady: isn’t there a sign?

Me: I don’t see one…. (seriously? No sign?)

Dispatch lady losing patience: is there anyone you can ask?

Me: hang on let me run in side. I’m sorry.

I get inside, and there is no one in there. Seriously??

Me: I’m sorry, I’m hurrying, I don’t see anyone…ah! Sir, what’s the name of this place? Ok it’s blah blah blah (yeah I don’t even remember what he said)

Dispatch lady: ok and what road are you on, 501 and what?

Me: Um, hang on let me walk up here and look (ALL THE WAY BACK UP HERE TO THE ROAD).

Needless to say, I don’t think she liked me much. But hello! I was upset and traumatized. Finally Dad shows up followed shortly by the deputy. As soon as the deputy got out of the car he says “so you’re the one who hit the tree!” O.M.G. seriously? Yeah, I’m famous.

So Officer V. is taking the report and taking my license, registration, etc., and I’ve finally started to calm down a little bit. Then he comes back and starts saying big words like “tow truck” and “rollback” and “body shop” and things got a little hazy. We spend a few hours out in the cold waiting for the tow truck and chatting with Officer V (who was very nice by the way, and did you know that he won’t stop people for speeding until they are going 16mph over? True story). Finally the tow truck comes, and I tear up again watching my tiny little car getting loaded on the rollback. I get the information I need and then watch some guy named Harold drive off into the night with my car. Sad.

What did I learn from this experience?

1- whoever didn’t tie down their FFF in the bed of their truck is on my LIST.

2- People don’t stop to help when you run over FFFs in the middle of a highway.

3- The internet on my blackberry will work unless it’s an emergency.

4- I did need to clean out my car, but cleaning it out in 5 minutes or less so that some guy named Harold could drive off into the night with my car is not my ideal situation.

5- My daddy is the best. When I called him I didn’t ask him to come, he simply said “stay there and I’ll be right there”. Yes he was working and yes he was on the complete other side of town. But he came to get me and even gave me his truck to drive while my car is in the shop. I am a lucky girl.

I wonder if I could send this in to the Allstate advertising people and they could do a commercial where that guy dresses up as a Christmas tree and acts like "mayhem" in the road?