My boots crushed the thin layer of ice atop the previous day's snowfall as I approached her front door. It had been three weeks since I had ended our relationship and I was here to see how she felt, what she'd been doing, and to beg for her forgiveness. The crunchy snow had ceased at the beginning of her patio. Someone had shoveled it the day before, and at the edges what was once fluffy snow was now miniature frozen mountains, encased in the overnight rain. The same rain that fell on me now and threatened to freeze the flowers in my hand.
I ran a huge risk coming without telling her I would be here. I could easily be setting myself up for a major letdown. Before I knocked I caught a glimpse of her on the living room couch. Her hair, dark wet and tangled, her face red, and her body encased in the down-blanket my mother bought her for Christmas. Her head was tilted back onto the wall behind the couch, her mouth wide open, and eyes closed, she was asleep. It was a joy to watch her sleep for a few moments. I remembered one of her quirks was that she was always grumpy when waking up. I found that to be a challenge in asking her for her forgiveness, but I also found it incredibly cute and so I smiled. Two things were strange about seeing her that morning; she never slept sitting up, and there were a pair of men's boots next to the couch. I saw a shadow approaching from the kitchen and as I jumped out of view I could smell the sausage and eggs. My flowers and my heart fell to the ground.
As I faced out towards her front lawn I had noticed something I should have noticed before. Footprints. Everywhere. The lawn was almost full of them. They seemed to generate towards a four foot tall snowman who had his back to me. The footsteps surrounding him were not carefully made. Evidence of slipping, falling, and laying down were obvious. I wondered that if I had thought hard about what mistake I was making three weeks ago, those footsteps could be mine. I wondered for a moment, if she thought of me while making those footsteps.
I followed my own footsteps back to my car. I turned to see the snowman with an expression of regret, and loneliness, but only seeing a wide, welcoming smile. I started my car and it now seemed colder than it was when I got out. And then I went to a diner to enjoy some sausage and eggs, alone.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Poetry Geek
So there is a kid in my poetry class (I'm taking it because I have to) who really grinds my gears. Let me describe him in a very unorganized fashion. I'm sure whoever reads this and has taken at least one class in college has seen one of these kids.
His name is Steve. He has the kind of facial hair where it's obvious he didn't mean to have it on purpose. He also has the same kind of haircut. He wears sweatsuits to class EVERY night. Not the kind of sweat pants you would find at a nice store, but the kind you see at Modell's 2 for $15 that cling to your upper thigh and show your sack. Now I'm not totally judgmental on guys according to their how they look, but when a guy takes no consideration to his physical appearance it says a lot about how much he respects himself. I don't consider myself a handsome man by any means, but I at least like to keep my beard trimmed and wear normal clothes. But this fact is just the beginning of what pisses me off about him.
He sits in the VERY front and center row. And as if this doesn't scream, "Please Professor! Look at me!" enough, he verbally agrees with every statement the teacher makes. Everything the teacher says is followed by some sort of word from Stevie boy that tells the teacher he is in accordance.
"And the type of device used here is personification."
"Yeah."
"You'll see Emily Dickinson has a unique use of proper nouns."
"Oh yeah. I see that."
"Shakespeare's target audience in this poem is also the subject of it."
"Yes. Yes it is."
Every time Steve does this it makes me want to throw my desk at the back of his head. I actually told the girl next to me who in response said "That wouldn't be very nice."
He is also the type of person who, if the teacher speaks about something he knows a little bit about, he can't just let it slide. Without raising his hand he will blurt out things like "Oh yeah! I read a lot of Edgar Allen Poe and I have all of his books and audiobooks!".
I can describe his world. In his world he is front and center of this class and instead of 18 other students behind him, paying the same amount of tuition and trying to express the same amount of opinions towards credit in the class, he is alone in the class and only his opinions are worthy enough to be heard. He will readily tell people they are "wrong" and laugh at other opinions. I have opinions on every poem we read, but I only offer it if his is different. So as not to be annoying by repeatedly blurting out answers, and to make him look incredibly dumb. I have no tolerance for people like him and I can tell you right now that by the end of this semester I will have punched him in his dumb face.
His name is Steve. He has the kind of facial hair where it's obvious he didn't mean to have it on purpose. He also has the same kind of haircut. He wears sweatsuits to class EVERY night. Not the kind of sweat pants you would find at a nice store, but the kind you see at Modell's 2 for $15 that cling to your upper thigh and show your sack. Now I'm not totally judgmental on guys according to their how they look, but when a guy takes no consideration to his physical appearance it says a lot about how much he respects himself. I don't consider myself a handsome man by any means, but I at least like to keep my beard trimmed and wear normal clothes. But this fact is just the beginning of what pisses me off about him.
He sits in the VERY front and center row. And as if this doesn't scream, "Please Professor! Look at me!" enough, he verbally agrees with every statement the teacher makes. Everything the teacher says is followed by some sort of word from Stevie boy that tells the teacher he is in accordance.
"And the type of device used here is personification."
"Yeah."
"You'll see Emily Dickinson has a unique use of proper nouns."
"Oh yeah. I see that."
"Shakespeare's target audience in this poem is also the subject of it."
"Yes. Yes it is."
Every time Steve does this it makes me want to throw my desk at the back of his head. I actually told the girl next to me who in response said "That wouldn't be very nice."
He is also the type of person who, if the teacher speaks about something he knows a little bit about, he can't just let it slide. Without raising his hand he will blurt out things like "Oh yeah! I read a lot of Edgar Allen Poe and I have all of his books and audiobooks!".
I can describe his world. In his world he is front and center of this class and instead of 18 other students behind him, paying the same amount of tuition and trying to express the same amount of opinions towards credit in the class, he is alone in the class and only his opinions are worthy enough to be heard. He will readily tell people they are "wrong" and laugh at other opinions. I have opinions on every poem we read, but I only offer it if his is different. So as not to be annoying by repeatedly blurting out answers, and to make him look incredibly dumb. I have no tolerance for people like him and I can tell you right now that by the end of this semester I will have punched him in his dumb face.
Monday, January 26, 2009
A Blog About Kristin Rotondo
I'm writing today about Kristin Rotondo.
When the weather became oddly warm the day I couldn't get her out of my mind. Did you ever meet someone who compliments the weather that day? Well, neither did I until now. I generally look forward to the warm weather, but now I can honestly say I'm looking forward to it more now that she and I do neat stuff together. I appreciate a lot more of the free things in life with her.
This past Saturday we spent our night baking brownies and doing a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle (of which we connected 57 pieces before going to bed). We passed the point of regular dates about a month ago. The occasional night out to the bar is OK, but now we get a bigger kick out of doing nothing. When the joy of time spent together doesn't need to come from the event it takes place during, is when you know it means something.
Me and Kristin could ride a train all day long and get more pleasure out of each other's company than most couples this short into a relationship would get in a year.
Bottom line is that I am incredibly happy with Kristin Rotondo, and it's going to be hard to keep her out of my mind, let alone my blog posts.
When the weather became oddly warm the day I couldn't get her out of my mind. Did you ever meet someone who compliments the weather that day? Well, neither did I until now. I generally look forward to the warm weather, but now I can honestly say I'm looking forward to it more now that she and I do neat stuff together. I appreciate a lot more of the free things in life with her.
This past Saturday we spent our night baking brownies and doing a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle (of which we connected 57 pieces before going to bed). We passed the point of regular dates about a month ago. The occasional night out to the bar is OK, but now we get a bigger kick out of doing nothing. When the joy of time spent together doesn't need to come from the event it takes place during, is when you know it means something.
Me and Kristin could ride a train all day long and get more pleasure out of each other's company than most couples this short into a relationship would get in a year.
Bottom line is that I am incredibly happy with Kristin Rotondo, and it's going to be hard to keep her out of my mind, let alone my blog posts.
Friday, January 23, 2009
A Squirrely Man
He was a squirrely man. The kind of man you always see riding the bus, but never see get on or off. He appeared in front of the convenience store I worked at for the third time this week. The storefront faced the setting sun that he almost seemed to materialize out of as he approached the door. His face was indistinguishable as he stood between me and the bright orange rays, but as he came in and stopped to wipe his forehead I saw the same expression he had as he entered each of the past two days. A look of bitterness. He approached me with something in his hand. I knew immediately what it was and I hid my smile behind the Maxim magazine I was reading. His third straight day in here and I was now sure why this miserable little man needed to come here every day. As he approached the counter I put my magazine face down in order to keep the page on "6 steps to flat abs".
Monday had been different. After his job (I wasn't sure what he did, but his repetitive sporting of solid ties, short sleeved dress shirts, and pleated khakis told me he was a city employee) he came in searching for something that he definitely needed. It turned out being a loaf of bread. He took the bread up to the register without giving it much examination. He had his money ready, so the transaction was a quick one. About 30 minutes later he came back, still wearing the solid tie, short sleeved dress shirt, and pleated khakis. He came to the counter and we caught eyes over the latest issue of Men's Health I was reading. "This bread is past expiration." he said. His tone was that of a Father telling his child for the last time he wasn't allowed to get a toy.
It was apparent he had either eaten or cleverly hidden one quarter of the loaf he was now angry about. I had every intention of letting him exchange it for a non-expired loaf, but I wanted to at least let him know I was aware of his ploy before I did so.
"It doesn't matter. You sold me bad food. You should be aware of that before I come in here to buy your products. This mistake needs to be rectified immediately." After this little tiff it was obvious he wasn't used to sticking up for himself, and it was even more obvious he had practiced this speech before confronting me.
I found his little rant oddly adorable. The smile on my face could easily be mistaken for a the sign of a good customer service attitude. To be truthful, I cared as much about generating good customer service as much as I did about arguing with squirrely, miserable men about stale bread. I kept the bread on the counter, and with a smile I put down my magazine, walked to the bread, grabbed a fresh loaf and handed it to him before returning back to the "employees only" side of the counter. He held it in the same hand he once held the 3/4ths of a stale loaf in and stared at me anticipating something. I apologized with my faux customer-service smile and told him it wouldn't happen again. He took a look at the new loaf, and then back at me. And then, without a single additional word, he walked out of the store.
Then there was yesterday. He came in differently. He wasn't necessarily rushing the first time, but today he was obviously taking his time. He paused after he walked in and looked at me. I nodded and continued reading the Popular Mechanics magazine I'd borrowed from the rack. I didn't wait for his response to my nod, because I'd assumed he wouldn't give one. For a moment it occurred to me that he might be coming back to apologize, and that he wasn't such a squirrely, miserable man after all. I adjusted my position on the stool I was sitting on and used the opportunity to covertly track his path. He did the same thing he did earlier today. With hands on his hips he visually scanned our meager attempt at groceries. He pulled the ID attached to his waistbelt with elastic string, and let it snap back to his hip, much the way a cowboy would boastfully spin his six-shooter.
An old Russian man came in and started asking me questions in a language I did not understand. I told him I didn't understand him, and when he continued speaking it I said it louder and slower. I immediately remembered he wasn't hard of hearing, just hard of English, so my yelling wasn't helping. This made me laugh, which made him angry. I apologized and he now began yelling. He pointed at the cigarettes and as I pointed at each brand hearing "niet's" and waiting for a "da", I gave squirrely man a look. He was headed to the freezer. I figured he was in the mood for dessert tonight.
"Da! Da!", my new Russian comrade shouted, as I pointed at a pack of Parliaments. I rang him up as he mumbled, and I continued to laugh. He shouted "Metchess!" and I looked over his shoulder at the squirrely man who was now pulling out multiple boxes of ice cream sandwiches -- inspecting them. Boris pounded his fist.
"Metchess!". His face was getting red, so I stopped laughing and put on my "customer service" smile. I made the universal sign for striking matches, assuming he was from our universe, and that he wanted matches. "Da! Da!" he shouted as he grabbed them from my hand and quickly exited the store. The squirrel-man was right behind him, hating everything.
He put two boxes of ice cream sandwiches on the counter and picked up a magazine to look through while I practiced my trade. It was obvious something was afoot, because the magazine he skimmed through was Bridal Monthly. If our angry little friend was ever fortunate enough to have found someone to marry him, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have been the bride. He put it down after looking through a few pictures, glancing at the cover, and realizing what he was looking at. He paid for his ice cream sandwiches and turned down my offer to put them in a bag. In taking them out I realized one box had an expiration date which had recently passed. In the split second before he turned down my bag-offer, it occurred to me what this squirrely little man was doing. He's slowly becoming addicted to being right.
Our angry little friend is coming here after work, from being behind a desk surrounded by desks, with people whose only celebrated individuality is the name on their elastically fastened ID badge. His ego is shattered nine 'til five. He came in here yesterday night because he wanted to feel like something he said mattered. After buying the expired bread and getting what he demanded, he realized he liked the feeling. Now he's doing it right here in front of me on purpose.
Normally, I would have put the ice cream sandwiches aside and explained to the customer why, but he looked diligently at these boxes and he knew better than anyone what was wrong with them. I gave him the boxes in hopes to see if I was right. To see if he would come back with a box of ice cream sandwiches sans one ice cream sandwich and demand action.
No more than two hours later he was exiting the store with a box of unexpired ice cream sandwiches in his hand, and a victorious smirk on his face.
And, as it finally occurred to me what he was definitely doing and why, he approached me on this third day, after being in here earlier today to pick up some canned goods.
"I was really in the mood for Goya beans tonight. And your store's inability to maintain products in a proper manner has ruined that for me. I would like one can of unexpired Goya beans now. And if you keep this up I'll have you reported to the FDA."
"I apologize sir," I said through a smile. "this is a definite problem, and we're glad you brought it to our attention."
As I turned the corner approaching the Goya beans I gave him a passing glance. He was staring at the ground with a surprisingly wide smile and now I am too.
Monday had been different. After his job (I wasn't sure what he did, but his repetitive sporting of solid ties, short sleeved dress shirts, and pleated khakis told me he was a city employee) he came in searching for something that he definitely needed. It turned out being a loaf of bread. He took the bread up to the register without giving it much examination. He had his money ready, so the transaction was a quick one. About 30 minutes later he came back, still wearing the solid tie, short sleeved dress shirt, and pleated khakis. He came to the counter and we caught eyes over the latest issue of Men's Health I was reading. "This bread is past expiration." he said. His tone was that of a Father telling his child for the last time he wasn't allowed to get a toy.
It was apparent he had either eaten or cleverly hidden one quarter of the loaf he was now angry about. I had every intention of letting him exchange it for a non-expired loaf, but I wanted to at least let him know I was aware of his ploy before I did so.
"It doesn't matter. You sold me bad food. You should be aware of that before I come in here to buy your products. This mistake needs to be rectified immediately." After this little tiff it was obvious he wasn't used to sticking up for himself, and it was even more obvious he had practiced this speech before confronting me.
I found his little rant oddly adorable. The smile on my face could easily be mistaken for a the sign of a good customer service attitude. To be truthful, I cared as much about generating good customer service as much as I did about arguing with squirrely, miserable men about stale bread. I kept the bread on the counter, and with a smile I put down my magazine, walked to the bread, grabbed a fresh loaf and handed it to him before returning back to the "employees only" side of the counter. He held it in the same hand he once held the 3/4ths of a stale loaf in and stared at me anticipating something. I apologized with my faux customer-service smile and told him it wouldn't happen again. He took a look at the new loaf, and then back at me. And then, without a single additional word, he walked out of the store.
Then there was yesterday. He came in differently. He wasn't necessarily rushing the first time, but today he was obviously taking his time. He paused after he walked in and looked at me. I nodded and continued reading the Popular Mechanics magazine I'd borrowed from the rack. I didn't wait for his response to my nod, because I'd assumed he wouldn't give one. For a moment it occurred to me that he might be coming back to apologize, and that he wasn't such a squirrely, miserable man after all. I adjusted my position on the stool I was sitting on and used the opportunity to covertly track his path. He did the same thing he did earlier today. With hands on his hips he visually scanned our meager attempt at groceries. He pulled the ID attached to his waistbelt with elastic string, and let it snap back to his hip, much the way a cowboy would boastfully spin his six-shooter.
An old Russian man came in and started asking me questions in a language I did not understand. I told him I didn't understand him, and when he continued speaking it I said it louder and slower. I immediately remembered he wasn't hard of hearing, just hard of English, so my yelling wasn't helping. This made me laugh, which made him angry. I apologized and he now began yelling. He pointed at the cigarettes and as I pointed at each brand hearing "niet's" and waiting for a "da", I gave squirrely man a look. He was headed to the freezer. I figured he was in the mood for dessert tonight.
"Da! Da!", my new Russian comrade shouted, as I pointed at a pack of Parliaments. I rang him up as he mumbled, and I continued to laugh. He shouted "Metchess!" and I looked over his shoulder at the squirrely man who was now pulling out multiple boxes of ice cream sandwiches -- inspecting them. Boris pounded his fist.
"Metchess!". His face was getting red, so I stopped laughing and put on my "customer service" smile. I made the universal sign for striking matches, assuming he was from our universe, and that he wanted matches. "Da! Da!" he shouted as he grabbed them from my hand and quickly exited the store. The squirrel-man was right behind him, hating everything.
He put two boxes of ice cream sandwiches on the counter and picked up a magazine to look through while I practiced my trade. It was obvious something was afoot, because the magazine he skimmed through was Bridal Monthly. If our angry little friend was ever fortunate enough to have found someone to marry him, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have been the bride. He put it down after looking through a few pictures, glancing at the cover, and realizing what he was looking at. He paid for his ice cream sandwiches and turned down my offer to put them in a bag. In taking them out I realized one box had an expiration date which had recently passed. In the split second before he turned down my bag-offer, it occurred to me what this squirrely little man was doing. He's slowly becoming addicted to being right.
Our angry little friend is coming here after work, from being behind a desk surrounded by desks, with people whose only celebrated individuality is the name on their elastically fastened ID badge. His ego is shattered nine 'til five. He came in here yesterday night because he wanted to feel like something he said mattered. After buying the expired bread and getting what he demanded, he realized he liked the feeling. Now he's doing it right here in front of me on purpose.
Normally, I would have put the ice cream sandwiches aside and explained to the customer why, but he looked diligently at these boxes and he knew better than anyone what was wrong with them. I gave him the boxes in hopes to see if I was right. To see if he would come back with a box of ice cream sandwiches sans one ice cream sandwich and demand action.
No more than two hours later he was exiting the store with a box of unexpired ice cream sandwiches in his hand, and a victorious smirk on his face.
And, as it finally occurred to me what he was definitely doing and why, he approached me on this third day, after being in here earlier today to pick up some canned goods.
"I was really in the mood for Goya beans tonight. And your store's inability to maintain products in a proper manner has ruined that for me. I would like one can of unexpired Goya beans now. And if you keep this up I'll have you reported to the FDA."
"I apologize sir," I said through a smile. "this is a definite problem, and we're glad you brought it to our attention."
As I turned the corner approaching the Goya beans I gave him a passing glance. He was staring at the ground with a surprisingly wide smile and now I am too.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Train: Cancelled
So I know most of my stories involve trains and commuting, but today is a day I can't possibly avoid writing about.
I'm at the station on my way to work. It's about 8:30. The train was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago, but it was CANCELLED! A severe inconvenience to say the least. When I heard the news I just called my boss and told her I would be late. She responded with a grunt, but knowing it was out of my control she said "Okay. See you when you get here."
She knows as well as I know that I didn't break the train. She knows it is the train I catch every single day, like I have for the past 3 years, and she isn't mad. Just like me. Sure this is going to make me 30some minutes late for work, but I'm not mad. This is the 2nd or 3rd time this has happened. But there's nothing I can do to make it any better. So rather than get angry about something I can't control, I just deal with it. Unlike the man who heard the news after I did. He demanded an explanation from the ticket agent, who had none. She was nice enough to inform everyone as they bought their tickets, but I guess she forgot her tools to fix the train at home. He goes to her window about once every three minutes to get a status -- as if his repeated treks to her is going to make the next train arrive miraculously early. This man will probably let this affect his whole day. When someone asks him why he doesn't want to go out with everyone at lunch he will respond "Ugh. I'm just having a bad day." It makes me happy that stuff like this doesn't ruin my whole day.
Of course now this train will probably be crowded and I will hate the world.
I'm at the station on my way to work. It's about 8:30. The train was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago, but it was CANCELLED! A severe inconvenience to say the least. When I heard the news I just called my boss and told her I would be late. She responded with a grunt, but knowing it was out of my control she said "Okay. See you when you get here."
She knows as well as I know that I didn't break the train. She knows it is the train I catch every single day, like I have for the past 3 years, and she isn't mad. Just like me. Sure this is going to make me 30some minutes late for work, but I'm not mad. This is the 2nd or 3rd time this has happened. But there's nothing I can do to make it any better. So rather than get angry about something I can't control, I just deal with it. Unlike the man who heard the news after I did. He demanded an explanation from the ticket agent, who had none. She was nice enough to inform everyone as they bought their tickets, but I guess she forgot her tools to fix the train at home. He goes to her window about once every three minutes to get a status -- as if his repeated treks to her is going to make the next train arrive miraculously early. This man will probably let this affect his whole day. When someone asks him why he doesn't want to go out with everyone at lunch he will respond "Ugh. I'm just having a bad day." It makes me happy that stuff like this doesn't ruin my whole day.
Of course now this train will probably be crowded and I will hate the world.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Blog off?
Skrubby88: let's have a blogging contest
whatisakeith: what are the details?
Skrubby88: we have to post everyday
whatisakeith: I'm very interested.
Skrubby88: whoever has to most readers in the month of February and gets a free pitcher from Miller's Ale House
whatisakeith: that's worth $5. you're on.
Skrubby88: is there a way to tell how many viewers we get?
whatisakeith: I haven't posted since March of last year. I have no idea how to check my views.
Skrubby88: i'm sure there's a way, google is smart.
whatisakeith: okay, so when does this begin?
Skrubby88 signed off at 9:23:49 PM.
Go look at John Wilson's blog (or don't and I will split a pitcher of free beer with you).
Skrubby88 signed off at 9:23:49 PM.
Go look at John Wilson's blog (or don't and I will split a pitcher of free beer with you).
Crashing someone's car.
So Sunday I crashed someone's car into someone else's car.
It was the first time I have ever hit a car, which sucks because now after almost 8 years of perfect driving I can't say "I never once got into a car accident" anymore -- although since it wasn't my car I crashed I can say something like "I never crashed my car once", and still be telling the truth (or at least convince myself I am.)
Quick description of the incident:
Me and Kristin were in her car. I was driving down my street towards my house approaching a curve to the right. I applied the brake about 70 feet back and the brakes locked because of ice, causing me to have no control over the deceleration of the vehicle. We hit a curb and got sling-shot into the back of an SUV. The airbags deploy, we cough, I apologize. I give Kristin my coat and she gives me a kiss. The police come, think I'm drunk, I prove them wrong. Insurance is exchanged, and Kristin, whose toes are near frostbite status at this point, is carried 6 houses down the street by me to a bed and a warm heating pad. I go back to take pictures of the area. I check the car for anymore belongings and come home to an asleep Kristin.
I would like to (for myself, mostly) try to go through the thought process I had after colliding with the parked car.
Fear - I wanted to make sure Kristin knew we were going to crash. I believe my exact words were "Holy shit, Kristin!".
Understanding - I remember thinking in the last .05 seconds before impact that there was nothing I could do to stop this from happening. I just asked someone if this could all just end nicely.
Disbelief - The moment I tasted the acidy powder I didn't want to accept what just happened.
Worry - I pushed the bag away to make sure Kristin was okay. She looked scared, but assured me she was okay. I apologized and didn't hear what she said after that. I got out on my side and someone was asking me if I was okay. I walked over to her side to open her door and I helped her out. She was okay.
Disbelief - "Did I really just nail a car?! Is this what it's like?! What do I do now?! This isn't even my car! Am I hurt?!"
Apologetic - I think I apologized to an innocent bystander thinking it was his car. I apologized to Kristin one thousand times and then to a man who told me I was bleeding from my mouth.
Fear - "Holy shit. This is happening. I have to deal with this. Don't freak out."
Comfort - I was thankful Kristin was okay and I was also thankful there was no human beings between me and the parked car. The mantra "Things could have went a lot worse" circled through my head a dozen times as we waited for the police. They were going to ask if I had any drinks that night and I wasn't going to lie to them, "One or two earlier in the night". The police were going to have their suspicions and I was not going to tell them how to do their job. It was something I couldn't run away from and I just had to accept. It's sort of the same way I look at going to the dentist. He's going to do some shit that's going to hurt. It's going to hurt a lot. But there's nothing I can do to get past this without getting hurt. So in order to get past the pain I need to think of the relief I will feel when it's done.
Fear - Without even getting out of his car the cop already made it known that he didn't like me. Maybe I just physically don't seem like the kind of guy people would immediately get along with? (Infact, he told me later he was angry about having to be at Cottman and Frankford all night, for the possible Eagles win). Kristin was very beneficial at this point after the officer cut me short of my explanation. She looked me in the eyes and told me to be calm and that everything was going to be okay. He was going to give me a sobriety test and I had a lot riding on it. I had my license, which if taken away would significantly impact my entire life. I had J--- who, as my little brother in the big-brother/big-sister program looked up to me as a mentor... and to have him taken away from me for a mistake like this would crush him. I had future job opportunities which would be severely diminished if I failed this test. I'm sure that anyone who's gotten a DUI can also come up with a million other reasons why it SUCKS to get one, but those are the ones that came immediately to mind.
Determination - The officer was very stern with his instructions during the sobriety test. I didn't approach the test with the "I am drunk, how do I convince this man I am not?" mentality. Instead I told myself that, since I'm not drunk, this test would accurately be able to tell him so, and we could just put this behind us. He tried confusing my left and my right, but I saw through his superior officer-intellect. I passed the test with flying colors.
Apologetic - Now that the worst part was over I had to focus on correcting the problem I had created in smashing Kristin's car. I apologized profusely (and I still am), and told her I would do whatever I could to rectify the situation.
Determination - I know what I did and demanded responsibility in correcting the problem. The feeling of not being allowed to help truely hurt, so I continued on with persistence that no matter what was needed to make this better I would do it. Again, this is a lot like the dentist. What ever I have to do is going to suck because if I just hadn't slipped on that ice I wouldn't have to do it. But now it's my responsibility and I'm not going to run away from it. I'm going to deal with the pain because I know there will be relief afterwards.
My worst fear was that I messed up so bad that Kristin wouldn't let me take part in fixing it. But as I went to the mangled car this afternoon, when I got home from work, she had left a note on it. It was telling the owners of the parked car that her now-destroyed vehicle would be towed away the following day. Instead of signing it Kristin she signed it "Kristin + Keith".
Whew.
It was the first time I have ever hit a car, which sucks because now after almost 8 years of perfect driving I can't say "I never once got into a car accident" anymore -- although since it wasn't my car I crashed I can say something like "I never crashed my car once", and still be telling the truth (or at least convince myself I am.)
Quick description of the incident:
Me and Kristin were in her car. I was driving down my street towards my house approaching a curve to the right. I applied the brake about 70 feet back and the brakes locked because of ice, causing me to have no control over the deceleration of the vehicle. We hit a curb and got sling-shot into the back of an SUV. The airbags deploy, we cough, I apologize. I give Kristin my coat and she gives me a kiss. The police come, think I'm drunk, I prove them wrong. Insurance is exchanged, and Kristin, whose toes are near frostbite status at this point, is carried 6 houses down the street by me to a bed and a warm heating pad. I go back to take pictures of the area. I check the car for anymore belongings and come home to an asleep Kristin.
I would like to (for myself, mostly) try to go through the thought process I had after colliding with the parked car.
Fear - I wanted to make sure Kristin knew we were going to crash. I believe my exact words were "Holy shit, Kristin!".
Understanding - I remember thinking in the last .05 seconds before impact that there was nothing I could do to stop this from happening. I just asked someone if this could all just end nicely.
Disbelief - The moment I tasted the acidy powder I didn't want to accept what just happened.
Worry - I pushed the bag away to make sure Kristin was okay. She looked scared, but assured me she was okay. I apologized and didn't hear what she said after that. I got out on my side and someone was asking me if I was okay. I walked over to her side to open her door and I helped her out. She was okay.
Disbelief - "Did I really just nail a car?! Is this what it's like?! What do I do now?! This isn't even my car! Am I hurt?!"
Apologetic - I think I apologized to an innocent bystander thinking it was his car. I apologized to Kristin one thousand times and then to a man who told me I was bleeding from my mouth.
Fear - "Holy shit. This is happening. I have to deal with this. Don't freak out."
Comfort - I was thankful Kristin was okay and I was also thankful there was no human beings between me and the parked car. The mantra "Things could have went a lot worse" circled through my head a dozen times as we waited for the police. They were going to ask if I had any drinks that night and I wasn't going to lie to them, "One or two earlier in the night". The police were going to have their suspicions and I was not going to tell them how to do their job. It was something I couldn't run away from and I just had to accept. It's sort of the same way I look at going to the dentist. He's going to do some shit that's going to hurt. It's going to hurt a lot. But there's nothing I can do to get past this without getting hurt. So in order to get past the pain I need to think of the relief I will feel when it's done.
Fear - Without even getting out of his car the cop already made it known that he didn't like me. Maybe I just physically don't seem like the kind of guy people would immediately get along with? (Infact, he told me later he was angry about having to be at Cottman and Frankford all night, for the possible Eagles win). Kristin was very beneficial at this point after the officer cut me short of my explanation. She looked me in the eyes and told me to be calm and that everything was going to be okay. He was going to give me a sobriety test and I had a lot riding on it. I had my license, which if taken away would significantly impact my entire life. I had J--- who, as my little brother in the big-brother/big-sister program looked up to me as a mentor... and to have him taken away from me for a mistake like this would crush him. I had future job opportunities which would be severely diminished if I failed this test. I'm sure that anyone who's gotten a DUI can also come up with a million other reasons why it SUCKS to get one, but those are the ones that came immediately to mind.
Determination - The officer was very stern with his instructions during the sobriety test. I didn't approach the test with the "I am drunk, how do I convince this man I am not?" mentality. Instead I told myself that, since I'm not drunk, this test would accurately be able to tell him so, and we could just put this behind us. He tried confusing my left and my right, but I saw through his superior officer-intellect. I passed the test with flying colors.
Apologetic - Now that the worst part was over I had to focus on correcting the problem I had created in smashing Kristin's car. I apologized profusely (and I still am), and told her I would do whatever I could to rectify the situation.
Determination - I know what I did and demanded responsibility in correcting the problem. The feeling of not being allowed to help truely hurt, so I continued on with persistence that no matter what was needed to make this better I would do it. Again, this is a lot like the dentist. What ever I have to do is going to suck because if I just hadn't slipped on that ice I wouldn't have to do it. But now it's my responsibility and I'm not going to run away from it. I'm going to deal with the pain because I know there will be relief afterwards.
My worst fear was that I messed up so bad that Kristin wouldn't let me take part in fixing it. But as I went to the mangled car this afternoon, when I got home from work, she had left a note on it. It was telling the owners of the parked car that her now-destroyed vehicle would be towed away the following day. Instead of signing it Kristin she signed it "Kristin + Keith".
Whew.
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