Part 1 was here: http://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2016/09/a-turkey-run-to-turkey-run-part-1-what.html
Part 2 is ... painful.
You owned a car for seven
years. You named it “Brad”. You loved Brad. You two had been through everything
together: three jobs, twenty trips to Missouri, a wedding, and a dog. Nothing
could replace Brad.
Then you totaled him.
Okay, so I’m paraphrasing
the lady from the Liberty Mutual commercial. But I really did love my car, even
though I never developed the habit of naming inanimate objects. It was a 2006
Ford Focus. It was reliable, constant as the evening star.
I kind of like
Logansport, too. It’s a nice little city, about 90 miles from Albion, close to
a two-hour drive. We decided to stop there for pizza, on our way home from our
shortened camping trip. We were driving down East Market Street in the late
afternoon, with the sun to our back, which means the sun was right in the face
of the young man who was trying to turn left into
BAM!
They say a car’s airbag
inflates instantly, but they also say time slows at moments like that. I
watched it inflate. Ironically, although I had about half an instant to stand
on the brake, I didn’t actually see the impact—just the airbag coming toward
me. The other driver, I assume, hit the gas to clear oncoming traffic, but the
sun blinded him and he accelerated straight into us.
By the way, as much as I
love my car, it was paid off. His was ten years newer, and he’d only
made two payments. At least he wasn’t hurt.
My first act was to check
Emily. Emily’s first act was to check Bae. Her reasoning is that the dog was
not belted in, while I had both belt and airbag, and I’m just glad anyone was
reasoning at all at that moment. She also reasoned that the car was on fire,
which she rather urgently pointed out to me.
On a related note, an
airbag is deployed by a small explosive charge, which is how it comes
out so fast. The speed is helped by a powdery substance that helps the material
come out smoothly. Add those two together with the smashed radiator and yeah,
it looked like the car was on fire. I’m glad it wasn’t, because after checking
my car’s occupants I decided to check the other driver, and my door wouldn’t
open.
You get a sinking feeling
at moments like that. You get another sinking feeling when you realize you’re
two hours from home, and your car’s going nowhere.
And a ten-year-old car, smashed all the way to the passenger compartment? It’s
going nowhere, ever again.
Well, except by tow
truck. With a major street blocked, I had little time to grab a few things. Our
suitcase, of course. It was all the way in the back of the trunk, behind all
the camping gear. I had to unload the trunk, then load it again.
Then it was gone.
Blood was dripping from
my hand; Emily was limping; the dog was confused. We were two hours from home.
The insurance company was prepared to get us a rental car, when the rental company
opened in the morning. Meanwhile, they said we could be reimbursed the cost of
a taxi to the nearest hotel.
I don’t know how many
taxis allow a 90-pound dog in. I have a fairly good idea how many hotels do. My
oldest daughter and son-in-law dropped what they were doing, loaded the
grand-twins into their van, and drove two hours to pick us up. The next day, in
a rental (which made me incredibly nervous), we came back and got about two
carloads of stuff out of Brad. I mean, the Focus.
It wasn’t just the
camping gear—it was everything. My wonderful Focus, with the brand new tires
and full tank of gas, will not be seen again outside a junk yard.
The rest is
anticlimactic. The attention-grabbing blood came from a little gash on the inside
of my index finger. How is a mystery, but considering the abrasions and bruise
on my arm, it’s related to the airbag.
Emily’s foot, like my arm,
hurt a little. Then a lot. The doctor recommended an x-ray as a precaution,
which meant a trip to the ER on a Friday evening, during a full moon. Yes, we
were there exactly as long as you’re thinking, but it’s probably best to know
when someone has a broken foot. She got crutches, then a “boot”. The boot looks
like she’s being converted into a cyborg. This is how Darth Vader started,
people.
The only thing left is to
give thanks; when the chips are down Hoosiers are wonderful. People rushed over
with alcohol wipes and towels for my finger, which looked way worse than it
was. The other driver admitted his mistake, and at no time were words or fists
thrown. More than one person stopped to see if they could help, and everyone
(of course) loved the dog.
I have to mention the
employees of Bruno’s Carry Out Pizza. I mean, we were on our way to get pizza,
right? On one side of the street was a car for sale, which I found ironic, and
on the other side was Bruno’s. I don’t know what they thought when they saw us
coming, dragging a suitcase and hauling bags, and looking very nervously for
traffic as we crossed the street.
But it was great pizza.
There’s a bench in front
of Bruno’s. We may have been their first ever eat-in customers, although we
were technically outside. They got water for the dog, and when I found out my
daughter’s family hadn’t eaten and went in for another order, they gave it to
us for free.
I wish it hadn’t
happened—I love my wife not limping, and I loved my car, and not making car
payments. But all you ever hear about is bad people doing bad things. Good
people outnumber bad people—sometimes it takes bad stuff to be reminded of
that.
Oh, I almost forgot: This
whole series of unfortunate events started when the temple of my glasses broke off. The makers of the
frame had been bought out, but the optometrist office managed to find a spare
part—which didn’t exactly match, but worked just fine. Another example of
someone going the extra mile to help out.
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| If you look very closely, you can see a difference. So ... don't look closely. |
