Last week, CoachDaddy posted a list of Things We’ve Done With Our Brains Switched Off. It spawned this terrible memory…Cue music please…
It was Fall – 1990-something. There was a chill in the air and the leaves were an array of golden hues that could take your breath away on a sunny day. My Mom decided I was ready to go solo! I had had my driver’s license only a short time. I had been studious in class, attentive during my driving lessons, and passed my driving exam with flying colours (as well as enduring the prolonged agony of an eternity in an empty parking lot with my Dad!) I was born to drive…and we needed milk!
First, I dropped Mom at the church so she could practice. Big Guy, who was around 9 months old, was safely strapped in the back seat and completely oblivious to this monumental moment in history. I took a deep breath, signalled my intent to merge into traffic, checked my blind spot, and headed out! I was going to our local convenience store to buy milk! I was driving “solo”!
The drive to the store was uneventful. I stopped at the wonky 5 street intersection, and breezed through the one stoplight on the way (it was green). I expertly snaked my way through the “s” curve under the railroad bridge, and I parked in front of the store. I proudly walked into the store with Big Guy on one hip and the keys swinging in my left hand.
I bought the milk…the usual 4L bag of 2%!
After I buckled Big Guy back in his seat in the back and had climbed into the driver’s seat, I took a few seconds to let the big stupid grin on my face subside before I headed home. My small town life was on the cusp of expanding.
I put the car in reverse, checked out my surroundings, and back out of the space. And then I heard it. A loud Bang! A single Pop! Something was horribly wrong! I slammed on the brakes and frantically looked around me to see if I could discern the source of this sound! And then I noticed him…
The snot-nosed face of a little kid in the back window of the car next to me, his hand splayed across the glass as he laughed hysterically and pointed at me with his other hand. I thought he was going to wet his pants, so exaggerated were his great guffaws. And then I looked at what he was pointing at next. A plastic milk bag in a heap, with a white stain spreading slowly across the pavement…
I had killed it! I had killed…the milk bag!
I had set the bag on the ground next to the back tire so I could hoist Big Guy into his car seat, and in the joy of the moment, I had forgotten it there.
I fled the scene of the accident!
I went home and sobbed my sad story to my Dad, who mercifully agreed to go to the store to buy more milk. I never asked him if he laughed all the way there, and I never checked to see if his seat was wet when he got home.
And I can’t remember if I was ever asked to go for milk again…
Thus ends my tragic tale.