We all have our little eccentricities and foibles, right?
Mine is very a strange one. I am terrified of driving on the expressway and I'm not a very good passenger either. This is not, however, a baseless fear.
My dad coerced me into taking over the lease on a Corvette back in the days when I worked at the dealership. It was a good deal and I did love the idea of a Corvette. So I did it. Sometimes I am not very practical.
This was not my first impractical but cool car. I had a Pontiac Fiero GT in college. Remember those? I was oh so 80s. My big hair fit perfectly through the T-Tops. I had a Jetta GTI that was very fun, yet still practical. A rarely made wise decision. I also had a BMW 318i that I worshipped like Jim Jones worshipped Kool-Aid. The Corvette was the latest in my practical transportation vs. cool ride, but can I afford the insurance? type of car. I had quite a few points on my license at that time as well. I liked to drive fast, but I was basically a chicken and never took chances. I just was never able to cute my way out of a ticket.
I did love that car. I felt so crazy/sexy/cool in it. I did get irritated when people automatically assumed it was my husband's or father's. I never let my ex-husband drive it. I wasn't even fond of him as a passenger.
I was in an accident in the Little Red Corvette on I-96, a very busy, very fast expressway here in Michigan. I was in the far left lane, the fast lane, and a woman in a white Mustang decided to change lanes. As I was already occupying the spot she hoped to place herself in, she hit my passenger side quarter panel. I was traveling about 80 mph and went into a spin across two very busy lanes of traffic. The last thing I remember seeing is a jack-knifed fifth wheel camper. I ended up with the Mustang's front bumper through the windshield of my car, which was slowly starting to smoke under the hood. I was also hurt, as I had hit the door panel and gotten punched by the air bag. My nose was broken and it took me some time to realize the front of my shirt was wet because I was covered in blood. I went into shock. I can remember screaming at the woman's husband, "Help me get out! Help me get out!" I remember her saying, "Oh my God, my new car." THAT really pissed me off even through the fog.
I do remember laying outside of my car with a woman holding my hand and talking to me. God bless her, whoever she is. There was also a big guy with a black polo shirt on with grey hair nearby. I remember seeing him running.
I remember hearing my cell phone going off and knowing it was going to be the now ex-asshole since I was late meeting him.
I don't remember anything else until I came to in the hospital, drugged out of my mind. The hospital also gave me codeine, which I am allergic to, and I had gone into respiratory distress.
I remember talking to a cop in the hospital and him asking me what happened. After I told him, he said that, "Yeh, that's pretty much what I heard. I guess it was pretty spectacular." But he was nice about it and I remember him squeezing my shoulder. I was pretty banged up and quite drugged at that time, not on codeine, thankfully.
I'm fully recovered except emotionally.
I am scared to death of the expressway. Any expressway. It's damn inconvenient, too. My husband, the former race car driver, is very patient and understanding with me. I appreciate that so much.
I've been through lots of therapy and it took me curled up on the floorboard of the doctor's Mercedes for he and I to agree that I would be an uncomfortable passenger, never a driver and he would prescribe some Xanax.
With the Xanax, I am just a very buzzed nervous passenger who is pretty useless except for naps when we get wherever we are going.
That's my big eccentricity. I feel like a freak.
I'm also not a happy flyer, but I never have been.