Good Weather For Airstrikes

Pimp my ride?

Yeah anyways, live blogging seems to be in these days, so here’s what I would’ve typed had I been live blogging my drive from UVA back to DC last night (all times approximate EST).

7:45:00 PM: Finish my last exam; all pumped about life and shit.

9:00:00 PM: Depart from UVA in The Chariot (my Amethyst ‘97 Jeep Grand Cherokee) to return to Washington, DC. Enter onto Rt. 29 North.

9:07:00 PM: Pop in that new Brand New record, remember how way good it is.

9:10:00 PM: Decide I really should have gone to the bathroom before I left. Attempt to concentrate on how badly I don’t have to pee. Resign myself to stopping at the next gas station.

9:13:00 PM: Oh, hell naw - tell me that elk-lookin’ shithead is not trying to run into my car.

9:13:01 PM: Swerve left.

9:13:02 PM: Overcompensate and swerve back right to narrowly avoid massive tree trunk as aforementioned deer plows into rear right side of The Chariot. Realize that deer are the 18-wheelers of the woodland creature world.

9:13:03 PM: Careen across two lanes of traffic and brace for impact with increasingly menacing guard rail.

9:13:04 PM: *IMPACT*

9:13:05 PM: Try to ascertain my whereabouts… surprised that they play “Degausser” in purgatory.

9:13:06 PM: Still trying to orient myself… Do I get another impact or what?

9:13:07 PM: *IMPACT* (”Degausser” stops. Apparently Pioneer’s anti-skip CD stereo technology can’t withstand sweet vehicular aerial acrobatics. Pussies.)

9:13:08 PM: Oh, hey solid ground, long time no see. That’s an aggressive handshake you’ve got there!

9:13:09 PM: What’s this? We’re rolling now?

9:13:10 PM: Seriously… this still isn’t over?

9:13:11 PM: Come on, now…

9:13:12 PM: Realize the car has come to rest. Realize I am trapped in my seatbelt. Realize I am upside down.

9:13:13 PM: Recall from my days as an early teenager spent playing Grand Theft Auto that all automobiles can only last 15 seconds upside down before spontaneously bursting into flames.

9:13:14 PM: FREAK THE FUCK OUT.

9:13:17 PM: Come to the realization that I probably have longer than that in real life. Continue to freak out anyway.

9:13:30 PM: Manage to force the seat into its reclined position by repeatedly kicking the dashboard. Realize that still only gives me about an inch of space to work with.

9:14:00 PM: Finally manage to rip seat belt from its holster after summoning strength I definitely don’t actually have.

9:14:01 PM: Remember that the car came to rest on a downward slope with the nose facing uphill. Fall into pile of shattered glass in the back seat.

9:14:02 PM: Psyched to find that while pile of shattered glass most immediately translates to “pain”, it can also mean “open window” or even “escape route” in certain contexts.

9:15:00 PM: Reach the top of the ravine. Greet concerned elderly motorist who witnessed the whole thing.

9:18:00 PM: Finally convince concerned elderly motorist that “No, I’m really not hurt”, despite him constantly assuring me that “There is no possible way [I am] not seriously injured”. Decide that his claim that he saw my car launch “at least 15 feet” into the air in an airborne cartwheel after hitting the guardrail is the product of him being old, easily excitable and prone to exaggeration.

9:19:00 PM: Chillax with concerned elderly motorist and his honey in his pimp-ass Senile Grey (y’know, the color of every old person’s car) Buick.

9:21:00 PM: Greet concerned paramedics, firemen and police officers.

9:30:00 PM: Finally convince concerned paramedics that “No, I’m really not hurt”, despite their insistence on the contrary. Resist their advice that I let them take me to the hospital immediately.

9:33:00 PM: Realize how ridiculous I’m being. Allow myself to be taken to the hospital, despite my displeasure at finding out that “Please let us take you to the hospital” is really just paramedicspeak for “Suck it up while we strap you to a backboard, stick needles in your arms and steal your socks” (No seriously, where my socks at?)

9:45:00 PM: Begin and conclude conversation with the two paramedics: “So, you guys are brothers?” “Yeah.” “…Cool”

10:03:00 PM: Arrive at Hospital. Get reception on cell phone. Call mother, father, Lizzy.

10:30:00 PM: Chastised by nurses for using cell phone in hospital. Think better of retorting with a brusque, “Notifying loved ones, yo”. Informed that I will not be treated until I am off the phone.

10:31:00 PM: Oh shiiiiiit, I still have to pee.

10:32:00 PM: What? I can’t use the bathroom until I’m removed from the backboard? I can’t be removed from the backboard until I’m treated? I passed up my window for treatment when I called my loved ones? I just have to wait?

10:35:00 PM: Fuckkkkkkkk.

10:40:00 PM: Seriously, this is ridiculous.

10:45:00 PM: Receive news from the Sheriff covering the accident (who courteously stopped by the hospital to see how I was doing) that the firemen surveying the tree/branch damage at the scene approximated the highest branch hit by my car to be “at least 21 feet”, validating the original claim of the concerned elderly motorist.

10:50:00 PM: Refocus concentration on the increasing anguish betwixt my loins, which is causing me more pain than the entire crash itself at this point.

11:05:00 PM: Seriously, I might cry.

11:15:00 PM: Treatment (i.e. they touched a spot on my back for a second and declared me good to go)

11:20:00 PM: RESTROOM SALVATION.

11:22:00 PM: Yeah I’m still going.

11:25:00 PM: No, it’s cool, I might be a while - I’ll catch up with you guys later.

11:27:00 PM: *zzzzip*

11:30:00 PM: Wait for futher instructions from antogonizing nurses.

12:30:00 AM: Hold on - did I seriously just wait an hour for you to give me two pills? Oh… I can go now? I rescind all complaints.

12:40:00 AM: Receive discharge.

1:00:00 AM - : Call people important to me and relate story countless times, each time with more and more exaggerated details. (”No dude, it was at least a moose”; “Seriously man, I nailed a 1080 in The Chariot… yeah, totally on purpose”; “Yeah, I thought I was done for but Kele from Bloc Party appeared before me and told me to keep fighting, so I fucking did!”, etc.)

In conclusion, yes, I know I’m way lucky to be alive and yes, I know that I’m making light of this even though every paramedic on the scene told me I should probably be dead. I’d just rather not dwell on those things though, instead let’s just focus on HOW FUCKING RIDICULOUS that entire series of events was. C’mon, by the “at least 15 feet in the air” part you have to admit it was getting downright comical (still completely true, however). Fuck, Hollywood doesn’t even dream of crashes like that.

But for those of you who’d experienced (read: been a passenger in) The Chariot before there was surely only one question on your mind: WHAT ABOUT GARY? Well good news, all - Gary is alive and well. He’s better than ever in fact; you gotta love that little guy’s resilient spirit.

Oh, and a final note: I visited my car today in the junkyard (hence the pictures) and realized the airbags didn’t deploy. They would have been nice to have around when I took that 15-foot nosedive into the ground, definitely. Any of you legal types out there know if I can get compensation for this endangerment to my life? Hook it up in the comments.

This entry was posted on Sunday, December 10th, 2006 at 9:19 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.