Memoirs

There will be blood. Insurance information will be exchanged.

April 12th, 2008

I was going to write my first blog, but then there was a car accident.

I had just cracked open the laptop and started to write, and by that I mean I wanted to check my theory on whether Omar Gooding actually is Cuba Gooding, Jr. and he had changed his name after he stopped hosting Wild and Crazy Kids.

Sidenote: I wonder if anyone has ever opted to become a junior in the name-changing process. Would that be a way to force someone to adopt you? Maybe if you really didn’t like your own dad, but your best friend’s dad invited you on family vacations and taught you how to drive stick. Things to look into.

So as it turns out, Omar Gooding is the youngest brother of Cuba who had stopped hosting the kid’s show on Nickelodeon to go on to be sentenced to 18 months probation on gun charges in the mid-90’s.

Just when I was about to see what Brad (Kelly Brown) from Hey Dude was up to lately, we heard squealing tires with a satisfying thud from outside. Knowing immediately that we were going to see a good old-fashioned Port Richmond car wreck, I threw on my rain boots, grabbed the dog and hurried outside before the accident disappeared. As our neighbors have told us before, we live on the corner of “Gunned the Red” and “Didn’t Even Know there was a Traffic Light,” but I can’t say I was prepared for the scene 15 feet away from our house. From what we could gather, the minivan with the accordioned hood hit the car that was standing on its side with the windshield nestled comfortably up against the traffic light. All I could think was how I’d never seen the underside of a car before. Tons of neighbors I’ve never met stood on porches and gathered in small groups to theorize about the position of the cars, like someone had just won a game of pool with some impossible shot.

Maybe I should bring something to the next accident, like some chips and guacamole. We could all take turns bringing snacks and coffee. I could take minutes and volunteer to keep a white board calendar with lists of names and ask whose turn it is on the rotation to bring the frozen margaritas. Tikki torches? Things to consider before the next accident.

As we stood there staring at the gas tank of the car, the police officers blocking the busy street waved spastically at the drivers who tried to maneuver around their 4-car blockade. And it became eerily quiet. No one had seen anyone get out of the overturned car, and no one else had put on shoes or leashed dogs in time to see if anyone had escaped. Cops very casually circled the car and shined flashlights around the damage. No one was panicked or crying, and the stretcher never left the ambulance. We all just stood silent and still at the theatre in the round, and we ached in unison for the bad acting and the terrible suspense. We tried not to crane our necks.

After 10 minutes, and only after Winston had finally settled down on the soggy sidewalk, we heard a few of our neighbors continue conversations. “So anyway…” They slowly dispersed, almost disappointed that there wasn’t going to be any carnage. The ambulance drove off with no cargo, and the fire trucks backed up awkwardly to turn down a narrow street, threatening to leave a string of shredded cars in their wake. This process was the most nerve-wracking portion of the evening for some of my neighbors. We were left only with the implied promise of a baker’s dozen of satellite accidents. Now that the traffic light that people see only 50% of the time is sagging to the street, upside down, bleeding, we have roughly an 80% chance of seeing more dings and fender benders and 7-car pile-ups.

Overall, I’d say the incident was anticlimactic. No explosive arguments, no hostage situations, no need for sirens – nothing but innocent bystanders and disoriented participants. Nothing. Maybe I watch too much Cops.

Let’s give it up for the real hero – the traffic light. Hanging solemnly by a thread, dangling inches above the car’s windshield, it was still changing dutifully with the timer. We can all learn a little something from that kind of work ethic. Play on, player.

By Tiffany |

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