After several days of depressing posts, I thought I would share a lighter story. Not a happy story by any means, but I’m able to laugh about it now. Mostly.
A few weeks ago, I was driving home from work on a Friday. It’s the same route I take every day and I could probably drive it in my sleep. I drive on one road for several miles through four red lights and over two sets of railroad tracks and past a small grocery store before I turn into my neighborhood. It’s easy.
There must have been a train pass on one of the tracks because traffic was a little more congested than usual. As I passed through the final red light, I hit the home stretch, but because of the traffic congestion, there were several cars stopped, waiting to turn into the grocery store. Stopping for this is an every day occurance but on this particular day, we stopped a bit farther back than usual.
Which was my exact thought: Hey, we’re back farther than usual. Hope the people behind me realize that.
I looked into my rear view mirror. Holy Crap! They don’t realize it. They are going to hit me.
I turned my steering wheel to the right. I had no where to go to avoid impact, but I thought it might keep my car from lunging straight forward into the next car.
I watched as the car behind me made impact. I saw their front windshield shatter. It took me a second to gather my thoughts, as I braced myself for a potentially second impact from vehicles behind the car that hit me. When no impact occurred, I put my car in park and got out of the car to check on the other driver.
She was out of the car and I could quickly assess that she was fine as she started screaming at me, “What is you doin? What is you doin?” over and over again while she clapped her hands. I was taken aback, so I responded, “I’m calling the police.” And I got in my car and did just that.
The dispatch lady asked me a few questions then asked if I was able to move my car out of the roadway. “Yes, except that I think her car might be currently attached to mine.” She explained that, by law, I was required to move out of the roadway. I paused to tell the other driver what I was doing, but she was too busy yelling, so I went ahead and put my car and drive and slowly headed toward the grocery store parking lot entrance. There were some unhappy car noises as my car attempted to take her bumper with us. Boy, that REALLY set her off. More yelling.
Dispatch stayed on he phone until the police were close and advised me not to talk to her, as the police would handle it. And they did. They got her license and insurance, issued her a ticket (or two), and gave me the police report number for insurance purposes. They asked if I needed medical attention but I refused. All I wanted to do was go home and cry to relieve stress.
About 10 days later, my insurance agent called to tell me that they got the police report, but the insurance she provided was false, BUT they were able to track down the proper insurance, BUUUUT it had been canceled due to nonpayment.
Of course it had.
So let’s combine the stress of the accident, the drama with the boys, the stress of putting my moms house on the market, the stress of back-to-school and college applications, snd you know, the normal stresses of life. To say that I’ve had neck/shoulder pain and a headache is an understatement. I decided to visit a chiropractor for the first time. I LOVE to have my back popped and I had some great excuses, I mean reasons to try it out.
Okay, so first off, it’s scary as heck when you have your head twisted that quickly, but the pops/cracks are amazing. But before the adjustment ever began, I had some concerns. First off, the doctor was examining my neck, from the front, and was standing with his legs between mine as I sat on the table. He paused inches from my face and said, “Wow. You have beautiful eyes.”
You know how nice it is to receive compliments? Yeah, this wasn’t like that. It was…ew.
Then he proceeded to act shocked when he found out that I’m 44. Apparently, I have the bones and skin of a MUCH younger woman. Ummmm, dude, I already paid my money. You don’t have to court me. Besides, I own a mirror. I know I look 44.
He led me into the adjustment room, and I had a mild panic attack because we were in there ALONE and I was laying on a table at an awkward height. Let’s say, groin area height.
After the adjustment, he had me loop my arm through his so he could escort me to the front. Like we were going to prom.
It was icky and creepy and I soooooo just wanted to yell, “What is you doin? What is you doin?”