So I went to Kansas City...
...and all I got was...
...okay, so I have no idea how to finish that joke. Just make up something about cars and deer and nerds, and it'll probably be funnier than what's in my head anyway. It's worth bearing in mind that this story has transcended from anger-inducing grand inconvenience into a story that would be a long joke in a stand up comedian's set, if only it had more punchlines associated with it (there's really only one or two good ones in here right now).
So, some (most?) of you know that I went to Kansas the weekend before last to see a Chiefs football game with mine and Tom's old roommate, Ryan. Our trip up was mostly uneventful: the drive up was quiet and smooth, dinner the night we arrived went fine, and the Chiefs lost (unsurprisingly -- they've been bad these past few years). We had dinner afterward at a nice barbecue place near(ish) his grandparents' house, gassed up, and got on the road.
We're in the middle of a conversation about...I don't even know what. Maybe we weren't even talking at all. Out of the corner of my eye, I see this white/tan head. My first thought is, "Crap, a dog! Brake brake brake!" so I take my foot off the gas and brake, and it's at this point that this dog triples in size and grows antlers. And it's at that point that I will censor my next twenty seven and a half thoughts to avoid the gnashing of teeth, wailing, and other abominations generally associated with that much swearing. Somewhere in the middle of all this, I hit the deer on the right-hand side of my car. I think I was around curse number 18 or 19, but it's really hard to say when your swears per second (this whole ordeal transpired in around a second, maybe a second and a half -- I'd say the deer was galloping 25-30 mph) enters double digits.
You can find the results of this physics experiment here (note: this is only a photo of me looking like an idiot and my car).
Initially, I thought...a second string of curse words...and then thought we ("we" in this context also includes my car) were totally fine. My windshield wipers were on, but I thought this might've been some sort of Honda crash detection that automatically kicked in to wipe away any water, oil, or other fluid from a wreck with another car. Nope -- when I hit the deer, I must've jerked the wheel to the right just enough for me to ham-handedly slap my wiper stalk with my hand.
Anyway, I couldn't detect any serious issues with the car at this point. It was still driving straight, and I hadn't lost any power to the engine at all, so I cracked a joke that we wouldn't need to stop for coffee anymore, and continued driving for about another mile. After thinking about it for a moment or two, we decided to pull over to see if there was any damage to the car. As you can tell from the photo, there was.
I probably would've just driven the car back to Texas in that sad state except for the fact that my car died almost as soon as we stopped. The oil and battery warning lights came on, my rev counter dropped to 500 (the car usually idles at 1100), and in spite of a quick jab at the accelerator to protest what I thought would happen next, the engine died. Ryan stepped back to my window to say that the car wasn't exactly pristine, and I tried starting it again. The same thing happened at that point, so we spent a few minutes gathering our thoughts before we started calling people.
Mind you, I have full coverage through a local auto company (Standard Insurance Agency). They've always given me ridiculously low rates. But they aren't open except between the hours of 8:00 AM and 5:00 PM. Or on weekends. This happened in the middle of nowhere Kansas at 7:05 PM on a Sunday. Instead, I called 911, got a trooper and a wrecker sent my way, left a voicemail for my mom, and tried to not freak out. Ryan's parents called his grandparents (who live about 20 minutes away or so), and his grandfather came out to get us.
We got most of our stuff out of my car, followed the wrecker to a local auto shop (where it's currently being worked on), and went back to their house to spend a few hours in Jason-and-Ryan-were-the-center-of-attention-even-though-both-of-us-hate-being-the-center-of-attention-land (yes, I realize that it was perfectly logical for both of us to be sort of doted upon at that time, but that doesn't mean I stopped being an introvert!). So, his grandparents drove us around the following day to get my car situation handled. I called my insurance company and was actually asked (after explaining, in verbal words, what I wrote above), "how does that (an incident wherein a car strikes a deer) happen?" Ryan said after I got off the phone with a dumbfounded look on my face, "I don't know. I'M NOT A DEER!" I know we're in Texas, and I know that most normal city folk only see deer in petting zoos, but that doesn't mean that deer only live in petting zoos!!
To add insult to mental injury, my insurance company would neither cover the cost of a rental car to return me to Texas, nor the cost of transporting my car from Kansas to Texas. So his grandparents drove us back to Ft. Smith, AR, and then he drove me to Atoka, OK, and then Rachael drove me from Atoka back to Denton.
As much as it pains me to say this, I am switching insurance companies when this policy expires (since I don't plan to hit any deer anytime soon). I like supporting smaller, local businesses, but I just cannot continue to give my money to a company who wouldn't provide me with a rental car when I was stranded in another state (and I have full coverage to boot). Ryan's dad/grandfather are going to drive the car to an as-yet-to-be-decided meeting place (either Oklahoma City or Ft. Smith, Arkansas depending on when the work is done) and my Mom and I are going to meet them there to receive it.
And so continues my ridiculous life.
...okay, so I have no idea how to finish that joke. Just make up something about cars and deer and nerds, and it'll probably be funnier than what's in my head anyway. It's worth bearing in mind that this story has transcended from anger-inducing grand inconvenience into a story that would be a long joke in a stand up comedian's set, if only it had more punchlines associated with it (there's really only one or two good ones in here right now).
So, some (most?) of you know that I went to Kansas the weekend before last to see a Chiefs football game with mine and Tom's old roommate, Ryan. Our trip up was mostly uneventful: the drive up was quiet and smooth, dinner the night we arrived went fine, and the Chiefs lost (unsurprisingly -- they've been bad these past few years). We had dinner afterward at a nice barbecue place near(ish) his grandparents' house, gassed up, and got on the road.
We're in the middle of a conversation about...I don't even know what. Maybe we weren't even talking at all. Out of the corner of my eye, I see this white/tan head. My first thought is, "Crap, a dog! Brake brake brake!" so I take my foot off the gas and brake, and it's at this point that this dog triples in size and grows antlers. And it's at that point that I will censor my next twenty seven and a half thoughts to avoid the gnashing of teeth, wailing, and other abominations generally associated with that much swearing. Somewhere in the middle of all this, I hit the deer on the right-hand side of my car. I think I was around curse number 18 or 19, but it's really hard to say when your swears per second (this whole ordeal transpired in around a second, maybe a second and a half -- I'd say the deer was galloping 25-30 mph) enters double digits.
You can find the results of this physics experiment here (note: this is only a photo of me looking like an idiot and my car).
Initially, I thought...a second string of curse words...and then thought we ("we" in this context also includes my car) were totally fine. My windshield wipers were on, but I thought this might've been some sort of Honda crash detection that automatically kicked in to wipe away any water, oil, or other fluid from a wreck with another car. Nope -- when I hit the deer, I must've jerked the wheel to the right just enough for me to ham-handedly slap my wiper stalk with my hand.
Anyway, I couldn't detect any serious issues with the car at this point. It was still driving straight, and I hadn't lost any power to the engine at all, so I cracked a joke that we wouldn't need to stop for coffee anymore, and continued driving for about another mile. After thinking about it for a moment or two, we decided to pull over to see if there was any damage to the car. As you can tell from the photo, there was.
I probably would've just driven the car back to Texas in that sad state except for the fact that my car died almost as soon as we stopped. The oil and battery warning lights came on, my rev counter dropped to 500 (the car usually idles at 1100), and in spite of a quick jab at the accelerator to protest what I thought would happen next, the engine died. Ryan stepped back to my window to say that the car wasn't exactly pristine, and I tried starting it again. The same thing happened at that point, so we spent a few minutes gathering our thoughts before we started calling people.
Mind you, I have full coverage through a local auto company (Standard Insurance Agency). They've always given me ridiculously low rates. But they aren't open except between the hours of 8:00 AM and 5:00 PM. Or on weekends. This happened in the middle of nowhere Kansas at 7:05 PM on a Sunday. Instead, I called 911, got a trooper and a wrecker sent my way, left a voicemail for my mom, and tried to not freak out. Ryan's parents called his grandparents (who live about 20 minutes away or so), and his grandfather came out to get us.
We got most of our stuff out of my car, followed the wrecker to a local auto shop (where it's currently being worked on), and went back to their house to spend a few hours in Jason-and-Ryan-were-the-center-of-attention-even-though-both-of-us-hate-being-the-center-of-attention-land (yes, I realize that it was perfectly logical for both of us to be sort of doted upon at that time, but that doesn't mean I stopped being an introvert!). So, his grandparents drove us around the following day to get my car situation handled. I called my insurance company and was actually asked (after explaining, in verbal words, what I wrote above), "how does that (an incident wherein a car strikes a deer) happen?" Ryan said after I got off the phone with a dumbfounded look on my face, "I don't know. I'M NOT A DEER!" I know we're in Texas, and I know that most normal city folk only see deer in petting zoos, but that doesn't mean that deer only live in petting zoos!!
To add insult to mental injury, my insurance company would neither cover the cost of a rental car to return me to Texas, nor the cost of transporting my car from Kansas to Texas. So his grandparents drove us back to Ft. Smith, AR, and then he drove me to Atoka, OK, and then Rachael drove me from Atoka back to Denton.
As much as it pains me to say this, I am switching insurance companies when this policy expires (since I don't plan to hit any deer anytime soon). I like supporting smaller, local businesses, but I just cannot continue to give my money to a company who wouldn't provide me with a rental car when I was stranded in another state (and I have full coverage to boot). Ryan's dad/grandfather are going to drive the car to an as-yet-to-be-decided meeting place (either Oklahoma City or Ft. Smith, Arkansas depending on when the work is done) and my Mom and I are going to meet them there to receive it.
And so continues my ridiculous life.