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More Frustrating Than Your Infidelity, Less Aggravating Than Living With You. PDF Print E-mail
Written by Deborah Hamlin   
Monday, 05 April 2010 10:48

I was driving through Kansas this past weekend on my way to pick up my kids from their dad’s in Mississippi, when I had a little accident.
Just a little one.

I mean, the state troopers only had to close the road for just under two hours, and that includes the time it took to clear the tailgate party-ers and move the semi.
But, I’m jumping ahead.   Allow me to tell the story.
I was driving on a long stretch of highway that had recently been cleared after a snowstorm.
Well, I thought it was cleared.   Apparently, they missed a spot.
Apparently, I found it.
I hit the icy patch at about 65 miles per hour and slid out of control.   I flew down an embankment a good 80-feet off of the highway and found myself perched on the edge of a concrete culvert - hanging sideways over a ten-foot drop to a creek below.
A trucker saw this happen and pulled over to assist, but had no chain with him.
I called the only person I could think to call, my ex-boyfriend and good friend, Dan.
“I had a teeny accident,”  I said.   “It’ not a big deal, but if you could bring some chains with you, it would be helpful.”
“Like how much?”
“Oh, umm, like everything you have.”
“Oh, boy,”  he sighed.   “Are you okay?   It’s freezing out.”
“I’m fine.   I’m in the cab of a trucker and I’m putting on jeans.”
There was a long silence.
“You’re getting dressed?   In a trucker’s cab?   Should I ask why?”
I scoffed.   “Of course you can ask!   Now please hurry.”
I hung up.
I called my ex-husband then, to let him know I would not make the appointed time.
“Look, there’s been a bit of a snag, so I’m going to be maybe two or three hours late.”
“What kind of snag?   How bad?”
He actually sounded annoyed, like it was going to be an inconvenience to him.
“Well, more frustrating than your infidelity, but less aggravating than living with you.”
Again, I hung up, without really answering questions.
A few minutes later, Dan called back.
“I have some chain, but I’m not sure how much you need, and what’s this about a trucker?”
I sighed.   When I want to answer questions, I’ll just talk with my mother, thank you.
He showed up about a half-hour later, carrying chains.
“What happened here?”   he asked me as we stood by the side of the highway looking down at my SUV - sideways - in a ditch - quite a ways down.
I glanced at the icy patch, the skid marks, the path through the three-feet of snow I plowed through, to the spot where my car now rested.   Then I asked him to figure it out.
But he wasn’t going to bother.   He was too busy eyeing the trucker that had me in his cab.
My pants had been soaked from climbing up the hill in the snow so I changed into my jeans I had packed with me.   I guess I neglected to mention that?
While waiting for the state troopers, I called my sister.
“Hey, Sandy, you’re not going to believe what I did.”
“Just as long as you don’t get pregnant,” she said.
“No, no.   My car hit a ditch.”
“You did?   Well, she probably had it coming.”
“No, a DITCH!   I ran off the road and landed in a DITCH!”
“Ohhh!   Wow.   Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just waiting for the state troopers to come up with an idea to rescue my car.   It’s straddling a culvert.”
“A what?”
Just then, Dan waved me over.
“Hey, I gotta go.   My ex-boyfriend is with the cops and they want me.”
I walked over and listened to their plan.   They would use every bit of chain they had to reach my car and hook it to the big shiny chrome brush guard, and pull it up and out.
Thank goodness my car is from Texas.   That brush guard is like a big ass belt buckle.   All it was missing was the boots.
I watched as Dan climbed down the hill and safely secured the chain all through the brush guard.   He then climbed in to steer as the trucker secured the other end to his semi.
I could almost smell him marking his territory.
The road was closed off since the semi was in the center of the road, so people had pulled off and could do nothing but watch the show.
My phone rang just then.   It was my mother.
“What is going on?” she inquired breathlessly.   “Sandy tells me that you hit some woman and now you and your ex-boyfriend are wanted by the cops.”
“What is happening?!” she asked worriedly.
“Nothing, mom!   I went into a ditch, and Dan is here to help me out.”
“What about this woman you hit?”
“It was a DITCH, momma, a DITCH!”
The wind howled and snow flew around me, but that conversation was even more chaotic.
“Mom, you have it all wrong!   I’m okay, but the troopers have closed the highway so the semi can pull me out.”
“A SEMI??   What on earth did you do that you need a semi to pull you out?”
“I really can’t talk now, mom.   Dan is in my car, and the semi is having trouble getting it out of the ditch.”
“One more thing.   What’s this about you straddling a pervert?”
I sighed, “A CULVERT, mom.   A concrete barrier over a creek.”
“Oh.   That’s less worrisome.   Is it in danger of falling in?”
“Yes, which is why there is a team of people trying to work on it right now, as I stand here, explaining details to you.”
“I see.   Well, let me know what happens.   See you on Easter?”
I sighed again. “Sure, mom.   If my car doesn’t topple over upside down into the creek with Dan in it, then I’ll see you on Easter.”
“Okay!   Don’t forget you’re making the potato salad,”   she reminded me.
I clenched my teeth and said goodbye.
The semi dragged my SUV for a 1/4 of a mile along the ditch as Dan tried furiously to steer it uphill.   It finally made its way back up the hill and to the highway, no worse for the wear, save a few dents in its shiny belt buckle and
the testosterone build up in my car.

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Mean Dean - 04-07-2010 07:43

:S A wild & interesting adventure, even if for the umteenth time in my wayward life, I couldn't comprehend "Mississippi Mumbles." I've driven trucks, & worked 3 years for a trucking company, but never heard of a "brush guard." Women only know it as a makeup piece! Add a "big ass belt buckle" & "boots" finally sent me to the Internet for answers. Somebody has been hanging with truckers a lot more than I. OK, so "bumper guards" is replaced by "brush guards," so now we are into country & western terms. Now..."straddling a pervert" is good English, & both "Satan" & I understand that phrase. I sure do enjoy all of these adventures! Does "an accident looking for a place to happen" come to mind to anybody else? :whistle:
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Last Updated on Monday, 05 April 2010 11:18