February 10, 2011
Yesterday was a morning full of s**t and giggles.
Emphasis on the former.
I knew something was up when I couldn't figure out what to wear.
This is usually not an issue for me.
I have clothes.
I put them on.
Always hoping that I don't end up looking like I got dressed in the dark.
And the extra time this took, plus some early morning road lunacy lead to a morning I won't be forgetting for a long time.
The second sign that something was up in Denmark was when we were sitting at the corner of Stoneybrook and Kimble, watching drivers pass one another.
In a residential area.
Because the roads were very slippery.
Kimble is a rather steep hill.
Fredericton is a rather steep hill.
And this causes lots of difficulty, especially when we have snowfall and mild temperatures one day. . .
. . .and sunshine and below -20 degrees Celsius temperatures the next day. . .
. . . and not everyone has the means to afford snow tires so they're driving on all seasons.
Who has all seasons is easy to figure out when you sitting at a corner watching cars literally stopped in the middle of the hill because they cannot get one smitch of traction. . .not even enough to make it look like they're moving.
Because this is Fredericton, rather than get out to help these struggling drivers, people just pass them.
Of course, this is a city where drivers pass city buses if they stop for more than 3 seconds, so I wasn't surprised.
Disgusted.
But not surprised.
We finally managed to join the throng of morning commuters, when we reached the light at Kimble and Forest Hill and it turned red.
Leading us to the realization, when it turned green, that snowtires meant nothing on the glacial pathways formerly known as roads.
Once we stopped for the red light, and made the decision to turn onto Forest Hill rather than remain on Kimble to get to the highway to take Em to school we had set in motion a chain of events no one could have predicted.
And I wouldn't have believed them if they did.
Just past Meredyth's apartment building, approaching a school zone, one lone red Ford Focus station wagon amid a passel of early morning commuters, including the big orange school bus behind us, every driver anxious to get to where they were going, and stunned at how icy the roads were, jawing about how poorly the city had sanded the roads. . .
. . .because they actually hadn't sanded them at all. . .
. . .we were rear ended.
By a university student, though not from our university, who lives in the same building as Mer and who was trying to get behind us and in front of the school bus so she didn't have to bear the burden of a stopping and starting school bus for her morning commute.
Because apparently she is special.
So, in icy road conditions, she shoved her foot on the gas, shot out of the driveway of her apartment building, promptly hit black ice, and used our back end as the buffer between her and the snow bank.
And did she ever use our back end.
Of course, I'm driving because Stephen is never awake enough to manage the hurly burly of early morning traffic.
Stephen is sitting in the passenger seat.
Em in the back.
We're talking about the roads.
And then. . . .BOOM!
I hate surprises.
I don't like the unexpected.
And there is nothing quite so unexpected as being hit in the rear by a moving vehicle powered by someone who thinks racing school buses should be an Olympic event.
Stephen IMMEDIATELY starts yelling at me to pull over.
While I IMMEDIATELY let out a string of expletives that won't be repeated here but began with "What the. . . .?!?!?!?!?"
And Em was in the back, shocked look on her face, big blue eyes dilated to the point where she looked like one of the cats when they see birds and can't get them.
I don't know why Stephen was yelling at me.
Where did he think I was going to go?
And then we got out of the car, and thus found ourselves in starring roles in early morning commuter theater for our fellow commuters.
Because icy road conditions may not be enough to slow down drivers who believe where they are going is oh so much more important than where anyone else is going . . .
. . .but the opportunity to gasp and gawk at the fate of others who were not so fortunate in their morning travels ALWAYS makes people slow down.
To assess the damage to the vehicles and thank God that it wasn't them.
Of course, this would be the morning where I'd actually remembered to charge my cell phone, and then promptly left it on the kitchen counter between the microwave and slow cooker.
Em had to call 911 and request police assistance.
I then made the next critical phone call.
To our departmental assistant asking her if she would put notices on our classroom doors that our 9.00 am classes were cancelled.
We experienced this debacle at around 8.20.
I knew the chances of us getting to class for 9.00 am were slim.
I was right.
The police arrived, and the filling out of reports, explaining the situation, assessing blame, exchanging of information started.
Out poor car.
It looks like the rear passenger side was opened with a giant can opener operated by a two year old.
No back lights.
You could actually see into the trunk.
But, the car still drove.
I took that as a good sign.
The policeman gave us permission to head on our merry ways and we made a bee line to our insurance agent.
And started the next step of our morning mishap journey.
We reiterated the entire event to the claims guy who then forwarded our info to the adjuster who would be calling us sometime in the next three hours.
Okay. My next class was at 2.30, so we were good.
Someone would be there to man the phones.
I hate the phone.
Most days my phone rarely rings.
Just the way I like it.
However, because I was actually awaiting a phone call, wanting to hear from the adjuster, the phone rang non-frickin'-stop.
And none of them were the adjuster.
By two, there was still no adjuster phone call, so I had to give up my post at the phones and let Stephen take over.
My control freak self balked at this prospect.
I was worried.
We needed a rental.
Stephen, after dropping me and Em at my office, drove over to the insurance agent sanctioned collision center.
Our car was deemed undriveable.
Something about no back lights as a safety issue, and oh, the leaking of exhaust fumes into the car from the hole into the trunk.
I would have been perfectly content to drive the car under those conditions.
But Stephen, imagine, was not.
I called the rental agency we always use.
They didn't have any cars.
But we should come by and fill out all the paperwork just to get things moving.
We arranged for as late in the day as possible hoping they would have someone return something by then.
Vehiclelessness is not a happy state to be in around here.
No luck.
No cars.
But they had vehicles.
So when I returned to my office at 5.30, Stephen met me at the elevator, his face lit up like a kid at Christmas.
Right away I knew something was up.
He informed me they still didn't have any cars.
But he had a vehicle.
And at that moment, I knew, I KNEW, exactly what kind of vehicle we were in possession of.
A pick up truck.
The light, the glint, the glee in Stephen's eyes were enough of an indicator, but I asked hoping that in my state of exhaustion that perhaps, perchance, I was misreading his oh-so-obvious delight.
No. Such. Luck.
And then he handed me the key to the Ford F-350 Super Duty Extended Cab pick up truck that would be providing us our much needed transportation.
One look at this monstrosity, and I nicknamed it The Behemoth.
Kudos to those Simpson fans out there who got the reference.
I can say without reservation that I hate driving this thing.
For me, it is simply, plainly, overwhelmingly just too big.
No one who lives in a city and doesn't do construction work or heavy duty hauling is in no need of such a vehicle.
At least in my humble opinion.
I can't even get out of the driveway without making the 10 point turn.
Backing into the driveway.
Not even.
No winter tires, either.
Somehow, I can't see Stephen and the kids pushing on this frightful mutation of vehicleness.
We had a moment of panic at Stoneybrook and Kimble.
No traction.
Me behind the wheel because Stephen refuses to drive first thing in the morning.
Advice from the peanut gallery in the front and back.
Stephen offered to take over driving after we dropped Keith off at STU.
However, I didn't welcome trying to jump the two feet down from the seat to the ground only to have to negotiate my way to the other side of the truck to have to climb up another two feet to get back into this colossal hunk of machinery.
Two feet off the ground.
I am five foot four.
The steering wheel, when I am standing on the ground, surpasses the top of my ears.
The help-you-up-handle is only useful if you can actually reach it when you're standing on the ground.
Watching me haul myself into the seat is just not pretty.
At all.
I was going to wear a skirt today.
However, I didn't think flashing the entire campus my orange striped granny panties was necessary.
I then thought about dress pants.
And tossed that out because I didn't know if I could keep them in one piece.
Jeans then, were the covering of the day.
The only other option was track pants.
And I was just not willing to stoop that low to climb that high into a truck I don't even like.
Once we pulled into the parking lot at work, when I was finally able to exit the vehicle, not at all gracefully and not without Stephen's help, I make it very clear to Stephen that under no circumstances was I driving this vehicle again.
Except for one more trip driving the kids to work later this afternoon.
Only because Stephen is in class.
I'd actually like to teach his class over having to drive this thing again.
Meaning he WILL be getting up tomorrow morning early enough to wake up in time to be able to drive this thing tomorrow morning.
I will take the bus rather than drive that gargantuan melange of metal and fibreglass.
And if there wasn't enough going on this morning, Stephen decided to have words with the guy who picked up the recycling.
He came around our corner, saw the blue recycling bags on the corner and drove past them.
Perplexing Stephen.
Who, in his pajamas, chased the recycling truck to uncover how come our recycling wasn't good enough for him.
Next thing I know, from my perch in the Behemoth, I see the recycling truck come back to our driveway and take our recycling.
Stephen climbs into the truck with a lot more grace than I did to inform me that the recycling guy, who was not our regular recycling guy, thought we had garbage mixed in with our recycling.
For a clean obsessed individual like my husband, this was just insulting.
Luckily, the fear of me behind the wheel of the Behemoth overrode his issues regarding the recycling.
Just another wonderful morning commute.
Tomorrow, the truck is going back to the rental agency.
We are picking up a car.
Or Stephen will be doing ALL of the driving until my little Ford Focus station wagon is returned.
Cause Mama doesn't drive trucks.
Title Lyric: We Rode in Trucks by Luke Bryan
No comments:
Post a Comment