It All Started Out As An Innocent Trip To the Dentist

I had my semi-annual cleaning yesterday.  The Uber-Hygenist did it.  She's really into her job.  I don't really want to have the anatomical explanation of how the inside of my mouth works, but that's what I got.  I don't want to have to look at my gums in a magnifying mirror, or an ugly rear tooth that she just took a picture of so she could blow it up to 100 times it's original size on the extra-large computer screen to show me the imaginary crack she saw in it.  (There was no crack.)  I just want to have my teeth made nice and clean and shiny, so that when I run my tongue over them for the next couple of days they will feel all smooth and tarter-less.

Anyway, I got through the cleaning and exam with flying colors (what does that even mean, anyway, flying colors?) and was heading home, cranking up the tunes, feeling good about my sparkly teeth when BAM! I hit the car in front of me. He had hit the car in front of him, the girl behind me hit me, the guy behind her hit her.  It was a 5 car pile-up. Or, to be a little less dramatic, a 5 car fender bender.

Accidents are funny.  I haven't been in many, and luckily no serious ones, but I find that you can pretty much assess what a total stranger is like in the seconds following one. The guy I hit was sullen. I said to him, "I'm not sure what happened- you were going, and then you weren't." I was hoping for an explanation for why he was suddenly stopped in the right lane of a 4 lane road in rush hour traffic. Nothing. I gave him my driver's license number- he wrote it down on an Amazon box. I went back to check on the girl behind me- she was young and sweet and upset. She really just tapped me and the rear of my car and front of hers was fine. She was calling the police because she said the guy behind her was making her nervous. I said it was a good idea to call them anyway, and if she wanted to she could sit in my car with me and wait for them to arrive.

I went back to Sullen Guy who wanted to see my insurance information. The guy from car #5 came striding towards us, dressed in a leather trench coat and carrying a soda bottle with no label on it and an unidentifiable liquid inside. He started yelling at Sullen Guy asking him what the (bad word, bad word, bad word) he was doing stopped in the middle of the highway. Sullen Guy said he had hit a guy who suddenly stopped in front of him. That guy had taken off.

I got in the car to look for some proof of car insurance. My hands were shaking, possibly because I was freezing, possibly upset.  My glove compartment was a disaster- menus, pictures Nina had drawn for me from her carseat, owner's manual, an assortment of pens, pencils and crayons. I pulled the whole mess out and dumped it in my lap and rummaged through it.  Sullen Guy stood next to my car, looking through my open window, waiting. I handed him a large Thomas the Tank Engine sticker in a feeble attempt at humor, and asked him if he would be happy with that. He smiled, very slightly. And then my confused mind remembered that that information was on my registration, which I showed him.  He wrote it on the Amazon box and then went back to his car, I assumed to stay warm until the police arrived. Instead he drove away. I hadn't even gotten his license plate.

It was probably about 5 degrees out. I had thought about putting on my nice warm fur-lined quilted boots before I left home, but decided the cool tan leather boots looked cuter with my skinny jeans. I got back out to see how the Sweet Girl was.  I was shivering. She was ok, but Crazy Trench Coat Guy and his girlfriend kept yelling at her. We decided they were probably drunk. The police arrived- they had lots of questions, lots of cars were whizzing by, my teeth were chattering. I asked if I could wait for them to talk to me more in my car.

I got in, anticipating the hot air of the car heater blowing on my freezing cold feet.  I was really mad at myself for wearing those stupid boots. I though my feet would probably be warmer if I took them off.

My car was dead. The window was open. I felt like I might cry. The cop came over with questions- I told him my car wouldn't start and he said to look up the fuel shut off switch in my owner's manual.  He said maybe we could fix the problem ourselves.  His "don't worry- we're in this together" approach cheered me up.  I called Big Al.  He came to my rescue in the jeep a half hour later, with jumper cables.  I told him he should probably follow me in case my car died again.

About an eighth of a mile up the road he pulled into a gas station.  He had no brakes- the brake line had broken.

We sat in the gas station parking lot and ate Kind bars and drank coffee from their little market, waiting for Triple A. I cranked up the heat and took off my boots and thawed out my poor little toes.  One of my new cop friends pulled in with my license and registration that he had forgotten to give back to me.  We told him about the jeep and he laughed at us and said, "You two are batting a thousand tonight." But, he said, I was lucky, because if that guy I hit hadn't taken off, he would have had to give me a citation for rear-ending him.

"See?" I said to Big Al.  "It could have been a lot worse."