What do you get when you mix icy Canadian freeways, an Arizona driver, a Tamra Camry, a fool behind the wheel of a Dodge Caravan, and a guardrail?
Note: This is not my own picture. Some other poor Tamra Camry suffered from a similar fate as mine, and I swiped the picture from here.
The answer? Tears. Many many tears. In fact, I’ve been crying so much today, I’ve become numb to the pain of it; I even broke down in front of a professor. I can’t think of anything more humiliating than crying real tears in the face of a professor. I’m so ashamed.
At least I wasn’t driving a MINI™. (Although now I’ll never own one; I don’t deserve nice things.)
I won’t bore you with all the details; in summary, I’ll just say that it may be my fault, but it may not be. But it probably is. But I didn’t get a citation. But I think I’m under insured (long, stupid story). Which is bad, for sure. The real sorrow of the entire ordeal, however, is that I’ve never been the cause of a collision before. I had a perfect record which is now officially blown to smithereens. (I wanted to use a harsher word than “smithereens,” by the way. I wanted to say “blown to sh*t” but I didn’t. See how I didn’t say it? Aren’t you proud?)
I called 911—first time in my life—and bawled to the operator. And then I bawled to the guy in the Caravan (who was yelling at me there on the side of the freeway, saying I’d been going too fast [which I hadn’t]). And then the 911 lady said the police weren’t coming (which is a bonus because my new 2009 registration sticker was sitting at home on the kitchen counter, where it’s been for the last two months, waiting to get stuck onto my license plate), so I exchanged info with the Caravan Man and…drove to school. Because I was almost late for class. (Don’t worry, though, I bawled all the way there.)
After class, I bawled to Poor Kyle, who rearranged his entire schedule to help me fix my problems. (Which is a fruitless cause by the way, because hi! Have you met me? My problems are never-ending.)
And then I bawled in front of my Father-in-Law, who compassionately said, “It’s okay, Camille. Sh*t happens.” Which cheered me up considerably, like a good cuss word always does.
Then I continued bursting into tears sporadically throughout the rest of the day, including right before my mid-term.
Oh, didn’t I tell you? I had a mid-term today, too.
Then I bawled (not really, but almost) in the next class when I got my paper back and saw a giant 74% in red at the top. In case you forgot, that’s 4% LESS than I got on THAT SAME CLASS’S mid-term. That’s digression. Exponential digression (I should have been a chemist). At this rate, I’ll be failing in no time. Sweet.
Then I really did bawl when the professor made me stay after because she could tell I was ticked about my score. I just don’t handle confrontation well, okay? And it made me cry. And then I was so embarrassed, what could I do but cry harder? Perfectly logical, I know.
And guess what? You know it was a bad day when even a 74 freaking percent on an essay is not the worst thing that happened.
Quite honestly, I am hesitant to drive ever again, but I have to get to class, and I have to drive myself there. Back in the saddle—I think that’s what they say. (What a stupid thing to say.) So it’s lucky for me, then, that Poor Kyle has a backup vehicle I can use—because, y’know, I didn’t total enough vehicles today…
At any rate, Thor has four-wheel drive, which, apparently, I need. Desperately.
And how was your day?