A few weeks ago, a couple friends and I drove up to a cottage almost 3 hours away. With plenty of time to kill, we talked about all sorts of things – as you do when you’re in good company.
I briefly mentioned that I want to move to England for a year, but that I have a fear of something going wrong when I do. Like for instance, a car accident.
As far as fears go, this is probably closer to the bottom of any normal person’s list when they think about moving to another country. But for me, the stress of having to deal with papers, a damaged car and not knowing where I am – all at once – is my biggest nightmare come to life.
Naturally, I said the first thing I’d do in that situation is call my dad.
“Well, if you get in a car accident in England you can’t just call your dad.”
Excuse me, but I can call my dad from my bedroom to bring me water when he’s in the kitchen downstairs. Don’t tell me when I can and cannot inconvenience him.
Fast-forward a week, and I get rear-ended while leaving a parking lot.
Why? Because welcome to my life.
First thing I did?
Yell the F-word and wonder where the hell that huge blow just came from. I’ve been rear-ended twice as a passenger, and yet for a split second I was so confused as to what just happened.
Did I do something wrong? Did my car just break down? Am I going to be late picking up my sushi?
My priorities are always in line, as you can tell.
When I realized what happened, the second thing I did was call my dad.
I got him to walk me through the whole thing.
Luckily for me, the lady that drove her vehicle into the back of mine was also very knowledgeable about the whole thing.
Not the driving part, clearly. But, the accident part.
She gave me directions to where we needed to go, told me what information I needed to exchange and was very cooperative in all of this.
A little too cooperative, and seemingly experienced. Like this wasn’t her first rodeo.
To my point, we walk into the collision centre together and she says:
“Oh, wow. They’ve really changed the place around!”
They’ve changed the place around? THEY’VE CHANGED THE PLACE AROUND?!?!?!
That’s something you say when you walk into your Aunt and Uncle’s house after not visiting them since you were six years old. Not when you walk into an automotive collision centre.
In all of this, she didn’t even say sorry. All she said was, “I’m so sick to my stomach.”
Again, YOU’RE sick to YOUR stomach?
You just hit my new car, and I shamelessly shoved 2 sushi rolls and 2 handrolls down my throat on the way to this place.
Oh, what? You thought I was just going to leave my sushi?
Please. A girl’s still gotta eat. Even with a dented in bumper.