babble
Tuesday, May 06, 2003
A whole bunch of things happened during my trip to Vegas, including (but not limited to): Consumption of my weight in Macallan; the successful completion of all three of my sessions at the conference, after which I received rave reviews; enough marketing bullshit to last me at least another year; three different married men hitting on me on three successive days; losing a wad of cash at the roulette table at Buffalo Bill's casino in Primm/State Line; and the erosion of my stomach lining from eating too much spicy food. Oh, and one other thing: I cheated death.
Yep. I sure did. I'd taunt death right now, but I'm kind of afraid he's going to come after me with some new kind of unconventional and totally freakish way of killing me, so I'll refrain from all the taunting for the time being and just tell you how I cheated the stinky bastard.
So, I was driving home from my trip to Las Vegas. I was only about 10 miles away from my house, getting ready to exit the freeway, when I saw something fly up from under the wheel of the car in the next lane. The object flew towards my car, and at the last minute, just before it hit me, I realized that it wasn't a plastic bag or some other type of lightweight material that we're so used to seeing float around aimlessly as random highway debris. No, this was no plastic bag, no sir.
It was a shovel.
About a tenth of a second after I realized that there was a flying shovel flipping end over end through the air towards me, it smashed into the roof of my car. As the handle hit the front of the roof, the overhead light cover fell off and landed in my lap. Then I heard the blade of the shovel hit the sunroof, shattering it. The shovel bounced merrily off my car, and I promptly freaked the fuck out.
Well, actually, I just kind of shrieked a little and then pulled off the freeway as calmly as possible. Then I thought, "Did that just fucking happen?" I stopped, pulled over, and examined the damage, and concluded that yes, that did just fucking happen, and I had narrowly missed having a face full of glass; had I been going 1 mph slower, the shovel would have gone through my windshield.
Yeah, you read that right. The story, while completely unbelievable in that oh-my-God-this-is-straight-out-of-a-David-Lynch-film kind of way, is absolutely true. So now I'm driving around in a rental car, waiting to hear from the body shop how much it'll cost to repair my poor, sweet, injured Audi. I'm also staying on the lookout for the next thing that death decides to throw at me, because if he's willing to attack my car with a flying shovel, that mofo is willing to do anything.
babbled by Kat @ 1:31:00 PM |
|
