This afternoon after school I went to the grocery store, and on my way home I was almost hit by a car. Some guy was leaving the gas station and almost didn't stop before he turned right, which means he came really close to t-boning me. Thankfully, he slammed on his breaks just in time. This means he pulled out and was directly behind me.
Last night when I was watching pairs figure skating (which, as a total aside, my little brother first thought was pears skating--like people dressed like fruit who ice skated around--when I told him he should watch it), I decided that if the cute, married Chinese couple won the gold medal that I would get Chinese take-out for dinner today--because I'm on a diet and will take any excuse to eat what I want. So, I'm on my way home from the grocery store, slowing down to take a right into the Chinese food parking lot, and suddenly I get hit from behind.
I pull the rest of the way into the parking lot, assuming that the guy behind me is going to pull in too, seeing as how he just rear-ended me and all. Well, I was wrong. Instead of pulling in, he sped away, leaving me befuddled in the parking lot of a Chinese restaurant. "Seriously," I thought, "have I really been in a hit-and-run??" Thankfully, I was fine, and so was my car.
I had no real idea how to handle the situation, so I did what any girl would do. I called my mom. She didn't really know what I should do, so she called my stepdad. I tried to call a guy friend (because for some reason I think that guys automatically know what to do in any type of traffic-related situation--probably because I've bought into some serious gender-and-driving-related stereotypes, but whatever), but he didn't answer his phone. Since the punk who hit me sped away, I didn't get his plates or anything, so I didn't really know what the police would do and couldn't decide if I should call them or not. My mom and I ended up deciding that the best thing for me to do would be to call the police station and see what they thought about whether or not I should file a report.
I ended up on the phone with the deputy on duty in my small town. I told him what happened and described the car and the driver--who thankfully I got a good look at when he almost hit me pulling out of the gas station. "Finally," I thought, "all that Law and Order watching is being put to good use. I just got to describe a suspect." I finished my story, expecting nothing much from the police since my description of "newer black four-door Nissan" was not very specific. Instead, I got something quite different. The deputy I was talking to said this:
"Well, I think we've got the car that hit you right here."
I was instructed to stay where I was and wait for him. He arrived after a few minutes, checked out my car, and then asked me to follow him so I could see if the car they had was the car that hit me. We drove about two minutes down the road to the location where the guy who hit me had driven his car into a ditch. I quickly identified the vehicle--which made me feel kind of cool, I'm not going to lie. The driver was a little ways up the road, right in the middle of his sobriety check. He was stumbling all over the place wearing, get this, pajama pants--they have become some sort of theme for my life I guess. The police got all my information in case they need to contact me to be a witness. I went home.
I told my roommate my story when she got home. A bit later, she was talking to someone on the phone who had seen the guy a little earlier in the afternoon driving forward then reverse then forward then reverse then forward then reverse in the median not too far from where he hit me. Crazy. I've now decided that I don't have to grade any schoolwork tonight because I got hit by a drunk driver. I'm also considering getting myself a gift. Some fabulous ring or something that whenever someone compliments me on I can respond to them by saying, "Thanks! This is the ring I got when I got hit by a drunk driver."
I don't want to sound like I'm making light of the situation because I know it could have been much worse than it was. Thankfully I'm not hurt, just a little sore from my seat belt, and my car is fine. And thankfully, the guy drove off the road before he seriously hurt someone. So instead of having a truly terrible story, I have one that's not so bad. So tonight I'm going to watch the Olympics--and probably enjoy them a little more than I usually do because I could just as easily not be.
And I'm going to reflect on the role that pajama pants have been playing in my life lately.
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