Doctored Memoir
I’ll never forget my first car accident. Not the first accident I ever witnessed, and not the first accident I was ever in the car for. The first accident in which I was not only the driver, but the whole stupid thing was my fault.
I should have known something bad was going to happen. It started at 5 am when I still hadn’t gone to bed and was suffering intense McDonald’s cravings. I borrowed my roommate’s struck, the Maroon Monster, and set off down Easton Avenue. The last few days had been drizzly and dreary so there was an oily sheen over the entire road, but I wasn’t worried about driving overly safe. We called Katie’s trucks the Maroon Monster for a reason. It was a resilient beast of an automobile that had survived more fender benders without causing monetary damange than any other vehicle I knew. Leave it to me to jinx things.
I grabbed my fix at McDonald’s; a nice greasy double cheeseburger with extra pickles and a large Coke. I needed to turn around at the light right after the burger joint in order to make it home. I was anxious to get there and at least squeeze in a nap before my first class. The beginning of my U-turn experience went peachy. Everyone else was driving conservative to compensate for the road conditions, but since I was manning the Maroon Monster I thought I could just continue driving as usual.
As the light changed, I realized that, being first in line, if I gunned it, I would have plenty of time to make my left-hand turn before anyone else entered the intersection, earning me at least an extra 30 seconds of shut-eye. My 5 am, McDonald’s craving, sleep-deprived, muddled mind made the decision instantly and off I went.
A quarter of the way through my turn things were picture perfect. Halfway through I began to question my decision. Three-quarters of the way through the turn I knew for sure that I was screwed. Despite her promises of handing all climates all the time, the Maroon Monster started to lose her grip on the road. The wheel was suddenly whirring around like mad through my fingers and M.M.’s rear end was shaking more violently than Ricky Martin after a bottle of tequila. Unfortunately, Mc. Monster’s bon-bon smashed into and rolled up over a nice high curb before she could develop any fan base. And I was stuck behind the wheel pretty positive I had just met my maker before getting to eat my burger.
The conclusion of my crash is a blur. I lived, though I didn’t get to eat my meal for another hour and by then the grease had congealed and my ice had melted and I couldn’t much enjoy any of it. I did, however, get to foot the $1,200 bill to fix up the Maroon Monster’s back axel and set her up with a new wheel. I learned to drive more cautiously when the road is all slicked up, but more importantly I now resist my 5 am McDonald’s cravings.