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Nothing is ever Damn Foolproof before/after I was almost out of town when it happened. Tooling down the road in my black on black montecarlo, I pulled up to the line at the stoplight. It was a bit of a quick stop, but nothing to bad. I looked in my rearview mirror. I saw a kid driving a van, looking out the driver side window. WHAM! He plowed into the back end of my car. I slammed into an oversized black dodge pickup truck with a wicked tow hitch, like it was meant to damage rather than pull. As ever, I noticed the stereo still functioned, this time pouring peter gabriel into my ears. I piled out of my car, to be greeted by a large man wearing what appeared to be all denim, a ratty hat, and faux Oakley sunglasses. The hemi legend continues, indeed. "What the hell do you think you're doin?" the man asked, sizing me up, maybe rethinking his aggressive approach, maybe not. "Me?!" I asked incredulously, "What about him? He plowed into me!" I pointed at the kid who got out of the old minivan. The kid was tall, blonde with short hair and a bad haircut to boot. Braces. Big for his body size, fear in his eyes. He stood there and quaked. "Oh, and it was a chain reaction type of deal." the hemi legend continued. "Yeah." "Well, I don't got no damage." he said, "You're lookin' at the man who's payin' for everythin'." He nodded, indicating the boy. "I'm outta' here." With that, he hopped in the cab and took off. "MOTHERFUCKER!" I said loudly, looking at my car. I looked at the boy, the fear was toxic in his eyes, there was no plan behind them. He wore his work shirt from Meijers, his plastic tag said his name. "Look," I said, "We don't have to call the police, if you'll just take care of everything." Pause. "I-I-I'm just seventeen. I don't know how this goes." he stammered. Great. Just super. You don't. Know. How this goes. Mother. Fucker. "Are your parents home? Maybe you could call them." I tried again. "Mah dad, he left for work, Ma won't be home for a little while." "Ok, so we're calling the cops. You got a cell phone?" What's white trash without a cell phone? Or a pager? Its like superman without a cape, that's what it is. "No." Sheezus. So I went to the closest house, rang the doorbell. Several times. I saw a kid in the window looking at me. Somebody has to be goddam home. Nobody leaves a three year old home alone. "Yeah?" says the guy behind the door. "We just had an accident, he plowed inna' me. We need to call the police." "I'll call 911. What's your name?" "Argentum," I said. And we waited. And waited. And waited. His girlfriend got out of the van and stood beside her man. She, too, quaked in fear and adrenaline. Ugly fireplug of a girl. She should play football. Could really plug up the middle on either side of the ball. I thought about talking to the kid, saying something, anything. But the best I could manage was not making eye contact. And we waited. I flagged down a passing police vehicle. He turned around and came back, pulled behind us and flipped on the flashers. And sat there. And kept on sitting there. So I approached the car. He tenatively put down the window on the passenger side. "Hi!" I said, "Are you going to take care of this?" "No, I'm county. City has already got someone en-route. I was just makin' sure somebody came." "Ok." I think I made him nervous. He jumped everytime I talked to him. Sometimes I forget my prescence. "Won't be long now." And we waited. And waited. The kid put on a denim shirt, and slumped against his van, with the "Man, my dad is gonna' kill me." look on his face. Well, yeah, dipshit. Its a sunny day and you plowed into a stopped car. You should be beaten and castrated so you don't pollute the rest of the human race. Maybe you're dad was jerkin' it, popped some, and your mom sat on it, I don't know. All I know is YOUR FUCKIN' UP MY DAY! Eventually the police pulled up in the form of a patrol car. Out steps a friendly face. Brian, my old partner from the Resedential Treatment Facility. We have eaten a lot of the same shit-sandwiches. "Hey, Bri!" I say warmly. "Hey, Arg!" he says warmly back, grips my hand in a firm handshake. Now, I do have enough of a sense of humor in me, to be able to appreciate this in the back of my head. A seventeen year old kid, just fucked up, worried that his dad's gonna kill him. Hoping to hell that he might slip out of this without a ticket. And the guy he plowed into is friends with the police office who shows up. Good friends, in fact, they chat for awhile before anyone even looks at you. His heart must have sunk into his shoes. I told Brian what happened, then asked for a report to be filled out. Gave him my information. "Sure," he said. Then got the information of the kid and his girlfriend and went back to his car. Didn't even ask him what happened. And we waited. Brian came back and we chatted some more. I asked about his kids. He gave me the paperwork and the number of the accident form. We said goodbye and I moved to my damaged, yet still functional automobile. Over my shoulder I heard Brian bark. "I'm gonna' get to you in a minute!" "Yes, sir." And I pulled away, pissed off, but largely intact, off to deal with networking class and the hordes of geeks that infest them.
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