Driving home from Whey Boy’s in Don’s car, a whole 1.5 mile drive, one of the local city trucks decides to turn onto the road I’m driving down without looking. I almost manage to avoid him, turning what would have been a collision to the front passenger side of the car into a glancing dent on the rear panel of the passenger side where not even the fuel line lives. “Did I hit you?” asks the guy from the truck. My response is to point at the dent with ugly black marks and peeling paint right at the height of the metal thingummy on the front of his truck. Yes, you hit me, asshole. That’s why the car is in a snowbank instead of most of the way to my house now. “I didn’t see you. White car in the snow, you know.” Today is sunny. Bright. We’re in a residential neighborhood. One with children. WTF not watching at intersections?
Cops come. I’m out taking pictures of the scene when they arrive. Trucker guy at this point has offered me the phone he doesn’t have so I can call anybody I need to, while I’m on the phone trying to get a hold of Don. I am not rude to him. I mention how nobody pays attention at the intersections in this neighborhood which is why I’m so damn good at dodging people blowing through intersections when they shouldn’t – I’ve had two near misses this winter already. Don’s little car knows how to run from a wreck waiting to happen.
Cops tell me to go ahead and stay warm in my car, I’m going to freeze. “She’s wearing flip-flops! Gasp!” I do not roll my eyes. I do ask if this is going to be a while because I kinda need to get home before going to class and if they need the car for photos maybe I could jog home to do my stuff and dash back? Wind up sitting in the car trying to read while fuming because trucker guy apparently does not need to stay warm in his truck while he gesticulates to his boss. Chat with Nannie who is still on a quest to buy me non-black business clothes and wants to know if it’s me or my sis that can’t wear yellow.
Report gets written, paperwork gets distributed. Cop wants to know if I can handle getting the car out of the snowbank. Snowbank is actually a pile of ice with a dusting of snow over it. I tell him I’m fine, the road is sorta plowed and the car has good traction. He gives me detailed advice on what I should and should not do. I do roll my eyes, close the door, then pull out and away with no trouble. Fucker.
I should have had an hour and a half to shower, eat, pack my school things, play with my hyper cat and stroll to the bus. I now have twenty minutes. I shower, pack my school things and skip the rest. Am 30 feet from the bus stop when the bus blows by at about 10mph over the speed limit, despite me shouting and waving it down.
Man in giant truck hits me, and I am instantly transformed into an invisible girl. This had better wear off before work or I shall make no money.
Anaea Lay 