The day that Daisy died …
I will never forget. I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was on my way back from delivering a pizza during my days at Domino’s. As I crossed over into a busy intersection with my beloved Daisy, a newly licensed teen slammed into me after running a red light.
Without even looking up, I knew the answer. Daisy was dead. I loved Daisy. She was a beautiful light silvery blue Toyota Corolla. She was my baby.
Upon exiting the extremely dead Daisy, my first thoughts were to destroy the driver of the other car. Violence is not usually my first reaction to a situation (except for that one time in 9th grade). But, I must admit I was overcome by this feeling of rage. I wanted to pound my fists into the driver of the other vehicle.
Why did she have to cry?
The other driver saved herself by crying. I was brought back to reality. She, along with her three passengers, exited the vehicle. She immediately admitted fault to the accident. We uncomfortably waited for the police to arrive.
Quit looking at me …
As we waited for help to arrive, I tried phoning family and friends. This is in the days before cell phones – my only calls depended on how many quarters happened to be in the floor of my car. As luck would have it, no one answered. I grew frustrated. I looked out into traffic and watched as drivers slowed down to stare at the remains of Daisy in the street. I found this completely humiliating. Each car would slow down, look and then speed up again when they saw me glaring back at them.
With my temper still having hold of me, I saw one driver laughing at my situation (probably because I still had a Domino’s sign attached to the top of my mangled car). I got out in the road and started making obscene gestures with my hands. I also could not control the unsteady stream of curse words that poured out of my mouth.
I am a hypocrite …
As much as I try to turn my head from accidents, I find myself uncontrollably drawn to these complete acts of misfortune.
I am constantly scanning the scene of accidents from my own car. I am looking at the expressions on the faces of the victims. I am trying to determine the thoughts running through their minds. I am inventing stories of how it happened, who was at fault and whether or not it will be obvious to authorities when they arrive. I decide whether the car will be driven away after the paperwork is filed or picked up by a tow company. After realizing that I am slowing traffic with my own obnoxious stares, I press on the accelerator.
What is wrong with me? I have become one of those people. I have also concluded that I would make a terrible witness to a wreck. I add too much detail to accidents before any information is available.