I love my early Saturday morning commute. Usually. It’s the only time I can expect to have the entire interstate to myself. That’s a rare treat in Seattle.
So, on this particular Saturday I was cruising along, humming my most recent earworm, which is (consider yourself warned) Somewhere Over the Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo’Ole. All was right with the world.
And then, as I approached my exit, I could tell something was not right, actually. Not right at all. There was a green van at an odd angle blocking half the road. As I cautiously went around it, I could see that the driver had hit the attenuator head on, and the entire front end of the van was crumpled. One of the tires was lying flat as if some redneck granny was about to plant some geraniums in her yard. Oh, shit.
So naturally, I stopped. I walked back to the van, and this tiny little woman got out. I said, “My goodness, are you all right?”
She said, “Do I look all right, b***h?”
I stopped in my tracks and went, “Uh… actually… you kind of do.”
That made her stop in her tracks. And then she burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m just…”
“I understand. Is there anything I can do?”
“No. I’ve already called 911 and my insurance company.”
“Okay. Well… Maybe I’ll just wait with you until the cops… oh. Here they come.”
“No worries. Take care.”
And off I went. I wasn’t even late to work. I strongly suspect she was late to wherever it was that she was going, though.
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