The chiropractor is a miracle worker......
I know I am supposed to post a version of my dollar bill experience, but this story is very similar. Here is a fictional account of my car accident. I will post my dollar stories later. I wanted to capture my thoughts on this subject ASAP.
Crash
Joan Beckman
April 5, 2004
“Welcome to Bradley International Airport. As the plane taxis to the terminal please remain in your seats with the seat belt on. You may use cellular telephones at this time. Upon the arrival at the terminal the pilot will turn off the seat buckle light and you will be free to leave the airplane. Please be careful opening the overhead bins, as objects may have shifted during the flight. On behalf of the crew and Northwest airlines we thank you for your business and wish you a great evening.”
With that announcement by our exhausted flight attendant, we had finally arrived, at the early hour of 10:45PM, in Hartford, Connecticut. Anxious to get to our hotel after a long day of traveling, my mom and I stood up as soon as the light was turned off. Like veteran travelers, we maneuvered our way into the aisle, opened up the overhead bins, and extracted our carry-on bags in a matter of minutes. We practically ran up the jetway, dodging other weary travelers, because our excitement had just begun. Ahead of us was our first driving experience in the Hartford area.
Impatiently, we waited for our Alamo shuttle bus to arrive. It was interesting for us to stand back and evaluate what other travelers were doing. Some were patiently waiting, others were talking on cell phones, and quit a few others were tugging at sleepy children, coaxing them to follow them into the adjacent parking garage. “Mom, look over there!” I would exclaim as a child raced away from their parents.
“Isn’t he a cutie!” my mother would exclaim while rolling her eyes and grinning. A few more minutes and a few more sarcastic comments later, I finally noticed our shuttle a few yards ahead of us.
“Look, here comes our shuttle,” I stated as we watched the green and blue people mover make its way slowly toward us. After what seem liked an eternity, the shuttle pulled up and the doors opened.
“Going to Alamo or National?” The shuttle driver inquired as he grabbed our bags. I wondered to myself that if we had said Hertz if he would have just shut the doors and took off with our luggage. We replied didn’t reply that way, instead we confirmed Alamo, and boarded the large bus.
Five minutes later we arrived at the rental car office. We were dumbfounded to discover that Alamo and National were in the same office, which made both mom and I wonder why it mattered to the driver so much. We filed into the office, pulled out our Expedia.com reservation sheet, and waited for the clerk to finish with the aging couple ahead of us.
“Good evening, what is your name and reservation number?” The clerk responded as mom meandered her way up the counter.
“Maggie Smith, reservation number 278991.” My mother responded. I sat back and listened passively as the clerk, whose name tag read Mohammed, entered into the much rehearsed script that he must say at least thirty times a night.
“What are your permanent address, local telephone number, and credit card number?” My mother, used to these questions from previous encounters rattled off the information without hesitation. Next the clerk entered into his sales pitches, “Would you like to upgrade to an SUV or premium automobile for an additional $60? Or how about our deluxe insurance plan with FREE full-size vehicle upgrade?” Shocked, the clerk almost did a double take when my mom requested the deluxe insurance with the vehicle upgrade. I am sure that I saw him smirk, thinking of the praise he would get for making the increased sale. As if he was afraid that she would change her mind, the clerk quickly placed the contract in front of my mom, blasted through the verbal statements, and asked her to sign. My mother, weary from six hours in the plane, signed the form and asked for a receipt. “Thank you very much. Here is your receipt and rental agreement. You can just go outside and chose a car. The keys are in the ignition.”
Slowly we made our way outside, cautiously approaching the full-size vehicles. I was expecting rows upon rows of awesome vehicles, but instead we were greeted by three Chevy Impalas. “Wow, what a variety we have here!” I proclaimed as we circled our choices. The car lot was not well light, so we hopped into the closest car, a silver metallic colored vehicle. A few seconds later, after mom adjusted the seats to fit her petite stature, we were off.
After our first left turn, I knew we were in trouble. “Did the clerk say, one left and two rights, or one right and two lefts?” I asked my mother as we cruised down the avenue.
“I can’t remember,” my mom replied back hastily. “You’re the navigator, I thought you would remember!”
Coming up to an intersection, we had to make a decision, FAST. I decided that the clerk had said left, so I told my mother to turn left. I held my breath as we speed around the corner and headed toward the black highway.
“Do you notice that it is getting awfully dark here?” My mom inquired as we passed a sign reading “Springfield----15 miles”
“SPRINGFIELD!” I proclaimed as I read the sign, “we are heading in the wrong direction!”
“Crap!” my mother replied as she slowed down. Quickly and adeptly, she maneuvered the car into a deserted parking lot, turned it around, and head back the way we came. She was silent, but yet the tension from her anger was thick in the air.
“Sara, look carefully ahead. Find out where we are supposed to go, and do it right this time!” She snapped between her teeth while looking intensely at the road ahead.
Feeling guilty, I focused on my task. Suddenly, redemption arrived in the form of a sign reading “I-91----1/2mile”. Excited, I proclaimed our luck to my mom. “Look, we just took a single wrong turn! We are on the right road now. All we have to do it follow that sign!” As I said “follow that sign” I held my left arm up to point toward the sign. As my arm rose, I noticed a car coming toward us from the left. We were heading toward an intersection, but we were not slowing down because we had the green light. My mom, happy to be on the right road, was hitting the accelerator with confidence. I kept watching the car to our left as it made its way to the same intersection as ours. Suddenly it clicked in my mind that there was a problem…..the car wasn’t slowing down for its red light…..it WAS SPEEDING UP!
“NOOOOO!” was the only words I could shout as I watched the car, seemingly in slow motion, enter the intersection, heading straight for the side of our car. Suddenly, I heard the sickening thud of metal hitting metal, tires squalling, and glass breaking. The sounds were so loud, all other life seemed to stop for a moment. Then, just as suddenly as it happened, the sound ended and our car was no longer moving.
“MOM!” I worriedly proclaimed, praying that she was ok.
“I’m ok,” she replied. “Did I have the green light?”
“Yeah, he ran it.” I replied back slowly because I was finally noticing the piercing pain in my abdomen from the forced applied from the life-saving safety belts.
“Is everyone ok?” The question came suddenly through the shattered window next to my mom.
“I think so,” was the only reply I could come up with as I stared at disbelief at the young man looking through the broken glass. He was tall, and was not older than me.
“You ran the light!” My mother snapped to him, totally ignoring his question if she was ok.
“I know. Have you called 911 yet?” was his reply.
“No, we are not from here so it would be long-distance call. We are from North Dakota. Do you have a cell phone?” I replied.
“Let me check,” the man replied as he stumbled toward his vehicle, which had somehow ended up behind us.
“Sorry, I guess I left it at home,” he replied as he neared our car after several minutes.
In a haze of pain, I reluctantly frisked through my purse to find my cell phone. I dialed 911 and waited.
“Hello 911, what is your emergency?” the female dispatcher answered.
“Hi…..we have been in an accident……we are at the intersection of two road by the airport.” I stuttered, totally ignorance of what roads were currently blocking.
“Miss, are you near the Bradley Bowl?” the dispatcher asked
“I don’t know, let me see,” I replied as I tried to turn my neck to see what was around.
“Yeah, we are by the Bradley Bowl,” the man replied, as if he knew what the dispatcher had asked.
“I guess we are, I can’t really see it.” I replied hesitantly to the dispatcher.
“We are aware of that accident; the police are on the way. Just stay put.” With that pronouncement, the dispatcher hung up and the line went dead. Sure enough, a minute later the reassuring red and blue lights of the highway patrol illuminated our wreaked car.
“Hello, my name is Officer Lang. What happened here?” A tall, husky man questioned as he bent over, looking intently at my mom and I.
“He ran a red light!” my mom replied quickly.
“Is everyone here alright, do you need an ambulance?” Office Lang replied.
“I don’t think so……we aren’t bleeding and the pain is going away.” I replied back. My mother, her insurance agent training in hand, simply nodded approval to my response while mentally calculating the cost of damage.
“Ladies, did either of you smell alcohol on his breath?” Officer Lang questioned.
“I didn’t, but he never got too close to me since I didn’t move out of my seat. He was very polite though, considering the circumstance. He even admitted that he ran the light.” I replied quickly. My mom, still silent, nodded once again.
“Well ladies, I will need to see your licenses and your rental car agreement.” So we carefully handed our information to the officer and he disappeared into the mob of police cars that circled ours.
I don’t vividly remember what happened next. I just remember how cold it was getting in the car and how both my mom and I sat in silence, almost too afraid to acknowledge the commotion going on around us.
“Ok ladies, we need to move you car here.” Officer Lang stated as he broke the daze.
“I am so sorry.” My mom replied.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. This was not your fault.” Office Lang replied as we slowly, like two crawling babies, made our way out of the wreck. Relieved to hear that she wasn’t going to be blamed, my mom finally started to relax and talk to the officers. In a zombie like coma, I was escorted by a short stocky officer to a police car.
“You guys can get warm in here while we tow your car. Do you have anyone who can come and pick you up?” The kind officer asked as we slide into the extremely small backseat.
“No, we are from out of town. I guess you will have to take us back to the rental car office.” My mom replied.
Content with the answer, the officer left us in his warm car. Together we sat in the back. My mom suddenly broke the silence, “how is your stomach, do you need to see someone?”
“No, the pain is going away. How are you now?” I replied
“Grateful. That upgrade saved our lives. If we had been in a smaller car we would have been dead.”
“Well, if I had leaded us in the right direction to being with, we wouldn’t have even been at the intersection at that time!” I replied, holding back my tears of relief and disbelief.
“Nonsense!” my mom replied. “If it hadn’t been us it would have been someone else. Stuff life this just happens.”
Suddenly, my mom stopped looking at me and quickly turned her vision to her right. “Well I will be dammed!” she exclaimed. “They are doing a breathalyzer on him.” Not able to see who she was talking about, I peered between the seat tops, hoping to. A minute later my mom snorted and said “well, it figures, they just put cuffs around him. I bet he was drunk.”
Dumbfounded, I said nothing. After several minutes of absent-mindly listening to Pink Floyd blaring over the police car radio, my mom asked a question, “How much would a cab cost right now?”
“I don’t know, but our hotel is about thirty miles from here. My guess is very expensive.” I replied.
“I don’t want to drive anymore. Maybe we should just call a cab.” My mom said.
Before I could reply, Officer Lang made his way back to the police cruiser. “Ladies you are very lucky. He was drunk, and had his car not stopped working, he would have ran. Here is your identification back. I have written down my badge number, the case number, and the time of the accident, 23:32, down on your contract. We will take you back to the rental car office right now.” Officer Lang handed us the document and walked away. Next, the kind officer came and asked us which office. We told him Alamo, he shut the door, and hopped in front of the wheel.
“Sir,” my mom yelled through the plexiglass shield, “how much would a cab to Plainsville cost us?”
“I would say around $100 at this time of night.” The officer replied.
Silently we made the rest of the trip to the rental office. Upon our arrival, the office unloaded our bags, undamaged by the crash, and drove away, leaving us to face the rental clerk by ourselves.
Slowly we entered the doors of the office. Having been dropped off by a police cruiser, we were already the center of attention. Mohammed, standing behing the desk, had a shocked look on his face upon seeing mom and I. “What happened?” he asked as we made our way throught the people gates to his desk.
“We were hit.” My mom replied without hesitation.
“Really? I can’t believe it.” Mohammed replied. He didn’t have to doubt us for long though, because as he uttered his statement, our wreaked car was entering the rental lot on the rear of a flat bed truck. “Oh my…..” was all he said after that.
Twenty minutes, fourteen apoligies, and five signatures later, mom and I found ourselves standing in the rental lot once again.
“Well, which Impala do you want now?” my mom asked with a sense of humor in her voice.
“I don’t know. You picked the last one we wrecked, so why don’t you pick this one too?” I smartly answered back, holding back a giggle.
“Well, this one looks due.” She replied as she opened the door of a brown one. Quickly we entered the car, adjusted the seats, fastened our seat belts, and started the engine.
“Here’s to luck!” my mom proclaimed as she placed the car in gear and headed out of the lot. “Hartford here we come!”
With that we turned down the road, past the broken glass remnants of our previous car, and headed safely into the night towards our hotel.