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It was raining when I left for work this morning. My car needs a new
carberator, so it tends to stall out at stoplights (dies when I hit the
gas after having my foot on the brake); it's even worse in cold weather.
I thought that was the worst of my car's problems (a $300 or $400 fix,
which I'm putting off). I was wrong. It was stop-an-go on the approach to the Bay Bridge. Now, I don't take the bridge, I take the Berkeley turn-off up 80, where I pass the Powell St. exit and take the Ashby exit to get to work. But I'm stuck in stop-and-go until I can get past the bridge traffic. I was surprisingly calm today - I was late to work because of traffic, but what're ya gonna do, y'know? Still, when I got around that curve, I was happy to be going a normal speed (50 mph). Then, this little red car in front of me decides that he's missing the Powell St. exit, so he slams on his brakes. Suddenly the back of this little car is much closer than it was 15 seconds ago. I have a choice: I can keep going and crawl up and over this tiny auto with my big Detroit steel machine (thereby crunching him into smithereens) or I can slam on *my* brakes. I decided I didn't feel like involuntary manslaughter today. I think my tires are bad. The brakes are supposed to be new (in July, Mom had them replaced before she drove out), and they seemed to grip quite well, but suddenly I'm fishtailing, then SPINNING around ON THE FREEWAY. These are not beginner roads; the traffic around here is intense and there are always cars coming and most of the drivers don't know what they're doing... So, I end up doing a 180 degree turn, facing traffic in the same lane I was just in (I think). I can't believe I didn't hit anyone as I spun; I was saying, rather quietly, "Fuck fuck fuck" as I spun around, watching the sky and cars all going the wrong way. I thank my lucky stars I had decided to put my lights on that morning, as all the traffic coming towards me sees me in enough time to move into the other lanes. I breathe and wait for a break in the traffic. Once that break comes, I try to make a 180 turn, and end up nosed up against the cement wall on the side of the freeway, the rear end of my huge car sticking into the right lane. Again, I wait, breathing deeply, watching as the oncoming traffic takes note of my situation and moves in what seems like slow motion into the left lanes. Luckily, traffic isn't too heavy or fast because everyone is coming out of that stop-and-go from the bridge. Finally, I get another break in traffic, and I can put it in reverse and pull out facing the right way. I consider getting off at Powell, then decide I don't want to deal with all those stoplights and I go up to Ashby instead. I'm tight, but shaking tensely, and, now that the danger is over, tears start streaming down my face and I bite the fingers of my left hand, chanting, "holy fuck, oh, my god, I almost died, holy shit". I was calm and cool while I was dealing with the incident, and I don't know why but I'm grateful that I seem to be calm and collected under pressure. I get to work, where I meet Judith in the garage. I holler, "Ohmygod, Judith! I almost died just now, oh my god!"(I'm not terribly creative with the expletives under pressure) and I burst into tears, telling her the whole story, accented with sobs. Judith is great, hugging me and telling me it's a miracle I'm ok, and telling me to tell the story to everyone at work, to process it and get it out of my system. The CEO tells me, "Get new tires" and Judith cautions me about the double latte I'm about to make, which is a good point, so I make a wet single latte instead. And I'm ok. Which is all that matters. | ||
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