We live by perhaps the most dangerous intersection in our whole city. Almost every day there is a near accident, and sometimes the near accident becomes actual accident. It’s not particularly blind, at least not compared to 95% of the rest of the intersections in the vicinity. And yet, people still drive like maniacs around here, and we’ve seen thousands of dollars of damage and street signs taken out, and cringed regularly at the gut-wrenching sound of brakes squealing and metal crunching. The speed limit is 35, but people like to drive 40 or 45. Understandable, were it not for the apparent danger of this particular piece of road. If I were not opposed to speed traps on principle (even when I’m not speeding), I’d be tempted to call the local police station and have a cruiser sent to patrol this area (especially around lunch and evening rush) for everybody else’s own good.
Anyway, today was no exception. Tires squealed, horns blared, and what did I do? I effing ran to the door to watch. And as soon as I got to the door, I asked myself, “Why am I here?” I didn’t actually want to see an accident. But I was uncontrollably drawn to it like some kind of closet sadomasochist who hates watching people get hurt, whose belly flops at the sound of car accidents, and yet who kind of secretly hopes to see something bad happen because a) bad things makes for good stories, and b) serves them right for driving like a-holes. Why are we (I say we because I know I’m not the only one like this! Yes, rubbernecker, I’m looking at you.) so fascinated by the morbid?
Like yesterday, a Cessna crashed on the freeway (no joke) about 4 exits from where we live, and landed on two cars. Our first reaction? “OOh, can we see?”
And what did we say? “Man, I wish I were the dude in the VW, because how awesome would it be to have to call someone and say, ‘Can I get a lift?’ ‘What happened to your car?’ ‘Oh, a PLANE landed on it.’”
Photo courtesy of: The Santa Barbara Independent.
Or: “Um, boss? Can’t make it in to work today.”
“Why not?”
“Cuz, a Cessna jacked up my car.”
….silence…
“No really, I promise. Here’s the news report!”
(Obviously, as long as there were no injuries and the guy in the plane had insurance to cover costs of damage to vehicle.)
Who I would NOT want to be is the pilot of the plane. “Umm, boss?…
…Whoops.”
Yeah, that’d be one of those phone calls where after the laughter subsides, you’d have to say, “No, really. I crash landed on a VW.”