Chapter L: Near-Life Experience

Image of the Day: Cracked
The car is about to explode. I am going to burn to death gruesomely in a gasoline/brake fluid inferno. The police will need to get my dental records from Dr. Shern to identify me...

Irrational in retrospect maybe, but it's my first car crash, and I don't know what to think.

I mean, all my experience with car crashes so far had been vicarious, through movies and TV. And that's what happened in movies--you crash, and then have 30 seconds or so to frantically crawl out of the car before it becomes a giant fireball of death. I can almost see the leaking gas dribble slowly, inexorably toward a fire. Just like in Crash.

A moment passes and the car fails to explode.

Through the haze, I realize I am not going to die. My next thought: 'So that's what airbags actually look like.' I'd never actually seen them before in real life, and they aren't the billowy fluffballs they show in car commercials. No, these were floppy, deflated things, drooping out of their compartments like a grandmother's breasts. They weren't soft either, but coarse like canvas. And dusty.

I have no idea what to do next.

A large man in sunglasses appears at the window, which I had rolled down to let out the smoke. Are you all right? Yeah, I reply. Your lip is bleeding. Did you hit your head? No, I don't think so. OK, you're going to have to pull over to the side of the road. Can you move the car? I'm not sure. Try to.

To my surprise, the car is still semi-operational, and I pull to the side of Interstate 405, by the Fairview exit. There are two other cars parked there. Apparently, when I smashed into the Ford Expedition in front of me at an ungodly speed, I shoved it into the back of the pick-up truck in front of it.

The man in sunglasses comes over again. You're sure you're OK. Do you need an ambulance? No, I'm OK. Did you not see that I had stopped? No, I saw the brakes lights, but it was too late. It happens. Do you have insurance? Yes. Is this your first car accident? Yes. OK. You'll get through this.

I have to kick the door to get out of the car, still half-expecting it to explode. The pick-up truck drives off.

I'm Bill. What's your name? Jerry.

Bill told me the driver of the pick-up had been rear-ended in the same spot a week ago, and no further damage seems to have occurred, so I probably wouldn't be hearing from him. Bill isn't hurt, but he needs his bumper fixed. It is my first time exchanging insurance information, and I don't know what to write. Your name, insurance policy, driver's license, and a number where I can reach you.

We sit in his car until my dad arrives. Bill tells me that he did the exact same thing on a different freeway twenty years ago, driving home from a USC/UCLA football game. Fast lane. Traffic stopped. No time. Smash.

It happens. I thought it was the end of the world, but I got through it. Your parents may want to kill you, but you'll be fine. Don't worry.

My parents come. Bill leaves.

Then the tow truck. 'How much will it cost to repair?' they ask the driver. He gives the car a cursory look. About five thousand dollars...conservatively speaking.

Totalled.

Fuck.

It could have been a lot worse, my dad says on the drive home. You could have hit an old lady in a Civic. Paralyzed or killed her. Gotten your ass sued off. We would have been in deep shit, lost the house maybe. And then there's the guilt--no amount of money can make that go away.

It's funny. After all is said and done, the only person angry at me seems to be...me. I had just gotten used to the idea of having a car, and I can't help but to bitterly self-recriminate. Why didn't I brake sooner/swerve into the carpool lane/pay more attention? I just don't know. 'It all happened so fast,' I believe is the popular refrain.

I think I've learned two important things from this near-life experience. The first is that I'm not invincible and that it's important to be careful on the road and blah blah blah blah blah. You've heard it all a hundred times, but I'm serious. I thought I was a prudent driver before, but there is a certain alertness that you only get after you've been in an accident.

And secondly, I learned that there are considerate people in the world who realize that making someone feel like shit after they've made a mistake is pointless, because they already feel like shit and it doesn't help the situation. And that's reassuring.

It seems I am a pedestrian again... although Diana would say I never stopped being pedestrian at all.