A Flashing Sign on the Buildings?
For the 8th time in the last 16 days someone in Buffalo has driven into a building.
I'm not kidding.
And it's not funny.
There have been fatalities involved. A couple was killed as they ate their cheeseburgers at a chain restaurant. A man looking to kill himself drove into a fire hall. A potential drunk drove into a different chain restaurant. Last night it was someone on drugs, evidently.
As luck may have it, I have a little experience when it comes to such matters.
I once drove into a house.
Let me set the scene.
We were all living in Mill Valley, California. I didn't have my driver's license, but since I was 18 years old, my brother John, who did have his license figured that I could move the car three feet in the driveway.
He was wrong.
John pulled into the drive and ran into the house to get the keys for the other car parked in front. My job was simple. He was going to pull the other car forward, and I would follow suit so that the car I was in wouldn't be sticking out into the road.
You got it? We all good so far?
I was wearing work boots. And there was one other factor. I had drank three beers immediately after work.
Oh, one more thing:
My brother Jeff was in the back seat of the car I was driving.
John inched the other car forward. I jumped in behind the wheel.
I promptly hit the gas.
I floored it, actually. You see, I thought it was the brake.
We raced forward. Is it possible to make it to 70 mph in 2 seconds?
Felt like it.
As you might guess, the car I was in struck the back end of the car that John had just exited. John went flying to the right. I saw him leave his feet. My foot found the brake. My car crashed into his car which in turn crashed into the house where the rest of the family was enjoying a pre-dinner discussion.
Self-knowledge is useful, but unfortunately it doesn't arrive until the moment after you've absolutely fu*&ed something up.
"Drive much?" Jeff asked from the backseat.
John dusted himself off. Mom ran out of the house followed by everyone else. Thankfully Dad had not yet arrived home from work.
What can you say after doing such a thing?
We spend so much time looking to blame our mistakes on others. I searched my Heineken-filled mind. I thought of my clumpy boots. Certainly it was their fault. I was curious about the damage. I was trying hard to save face.
Nothing worked.
"I ought to kill you," John said calmly as I stepped from the car.
"I wish you would," I answered.
I remember paying for the damage. I'm still paying for it, actually.
There are moments when someone in the family will look at me and laugh.
"Remember when you hit the house?"
It happens.
I'm not kidding.
And it's not funny.
There have been fatalities involved. A couple was killed as they ate their cheeseburgers at a chain restaurant. A man looking to kill himself drove into a fire hall. A potential drunk drove into a different chain restaurant. Last night it was someone on drugs, evidently.
As luck may have it, I have a little experience when it comes to such matters.
I once drove into a house.
Let me set the scene.
We were all living in Mill Valley, California. I didn't have my driver's license, but since I was 18 years old, my brother John, who did have his license figured that I could move the car three feet in the driveway.
He was wrong.
John pulled into the drive and ran into the house to get the keys for the other car parked in front. My job was simple. He was going to pull the other car forward, and I would follow suit so that the car I was in wouldn't be sticking out into the road.
You got it? We all good so far?
I was wearing work boots. And there was one other factor. I had drank three beers immediately after work.
Oh, one more thing:
My brother Jeff was in the back seat of the car I was driving.
John inched the other car forward. I jumped in behind the wheel.
I promptly hit the gas.
I floored it, actually. You see, I thought it was the brake.
We raced forward. Is it possible to make it to 70 mph in 2 seconds?
Felt like it.
As you might guess, the car I was in struck the back end of the car that John had just exited. John went flying to the right. I saw him leave his feet. My foot found the brake. My car crashed into his car which in turn crashed into the house where the rest of the family was enjoying a pre-dinner discussion.
Self-knowledge is useful, but unfortunately it doesn't arrive until the moment after you've absolutely fu*&ed something up.
"Drive much?" Jeff asked from the backseat.
John dusted himself off. Mom ran out of the house followed by everyone else. Thankfully Dad had not yet arrived home from work.
What can you say after doing such a thing?
We spend so much time looking to blame our mistakes on others. I searched my Heineken-filled mind. I thought of my clumpy boots. Certainly it was their fault. I was curious about the damage. I was trying hard to save face.
Nothing worked.
"I ought to kill you," John said calmly as I stepped from the car.
"I wish you would," I answered.
I remember paying for the damage. I'm still paying for it, actually.
There are moments when someone in the family will look at me and laugh.
"Remember when you hit the house?"
It happens.
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