Driving Mrs. Crazy – Part I

I used to be so arrogant that I would look at people with serious phobias and think, “Oh come on now, you can do this.  It sucks, you don’t want to, but you CAN.”

I was an asshole.

But let me tell you why.

Brief back story.  I sucked at driving until I was at least 26.  AT LEAST.

I spent 10 years being really cruddy at driving.  But there were REASONS for it.

When I was just barely 16 years old, I don’t think the ink was dry on my license, I hit a police officer.

Well his car.

I had just left a friends house after a breakup and I was very upset and I came to a stop sign and the street only went right or left.  You couldn’t go straight, as Jonie Mitchell would say, they paved paradise and put up a parking lot.  There were some bushes near the stop sign, and so I paused, then started to make my right hand turn.  Also known as a “California Stop.” As I am slowly cruising right, I notice a police car and not wanting a ticket I slam on the brakes.

Oh wait, that’s the gas pedal.

I put my mother’s Bronco II on top of the hood of a local police officer.

Eventually it and I, rolled off.

And then I subsequently went into a teen coma.  Not a medical coma mind you, but a mental one.

I just sat there.

Imagine something like this, but with a police car under the car.

Eventually a kindly woman in aforementioned parking lot came to my window.  She made the universal gesture to roll down my window.  The hand crank mime we all used to know.  (Which by the way I just asked my kids what this meant and they didn’t know. My 11 year old thought it was to tell other drivers to, “Go ahead.” Lawdy…)  I remember turning my head and looking at her.  But not doing much else.  I was literally in shock.

She opens up the drivers side door, and I am starting to snap out of it a bit.  I go to put my legs down but come to find out they had zero intention of listening to my brain.  I fell out of the Bronco.

I wasn’t hurt mind you.  I just didn’t posses even the simplest of functions at that point.

Then the policeman came up, he was off duty in his patrol car.  And his toddler daughter was in the front seat.

I then began to bawl.  HARD.  Chest heaving, wailing, shit you see in movies where you look at someone and go, “This bitch has lost her mind.”

He at this point, due to my overwhelming fear and the fact I clearly had lost my ever loving mind, starts to parade the little girl around me.  “Hey, she is OK!  It is OK!  Really, please stop crying….”

“But…Utt…I…I…Caa…Caaa…nt… Sto…Sto….Ppppuh.”

I needed about 10 more minutes to get my shit together and I look at him and say.  “Oh wait.  When you call my mom, you can’t identify yourself first.”

Puzzled, he looked at me and I expanded.

I said, if you call my mother, and say, “Good afternoon Maam, this is Officer _____” What you have seen me go through will be an afternoon in the park with a vanilla ice cream cone.  She will have a complete and mental breakdown assuming I am dead.

So he said he would handle it.

I hit a city police officer.  But because I hit that officer he couldn’t write the ticket.

He called for another police officer to handle it.  Come to find out, City police couldn’t handle it at all because it involved an accident with a CITY police office.  So they send for County.  Two county police officers also find out that they can’t write it either, it falls under the jurisdiction of “Florida State Troopers.”  So two of those show up.

So, let’s re-cap.  A mangled city police car, another city police car, two county, and two state troopers.  That leaves us with 6 officers of the law with their lights going.

(Side note, it was during the day.  Around noon, totally light out.  I had NO excuse.)

And here comes my grandmother, who had to drive my mother because even though the kind officer followed my instructions she still lost her ever loving mind. (Oh and I wrecked her vehicle…)  When they arrived at the parking lot facing the accident, there was her Bronco mangled, a mangled police vehicle and what seemed to her 452 police cars surrounding the carnage.

She opened up her door, and fell out.

Seems the weak legs thing is hereditary.

So, believe it or not this long drawn out tale is essential to explain why now, I am in fact when being driven, “Driving Mrs. Crazy.”  I am thinking of getting a T-shirt made.


Part II should arrive hopefully in tact on Tues or Wed.  Luckily I am not driving it anywhere.

As Always,

Woman on Pause

Photo Credits:

10 thoughts on “Driving Mrs. Crazy – Part I

  1. I know I shouldn’t have laughed. But the day after I got my license, I convinced my dad to let me drive to school. And I got hit. Not my fault, but I bawled like a sick calf. I called him in that state and, of course, now he was freaking out. And it wasn’t even my fault. I was traumatized. So I can understand how this would affect you. But I still laughed.

  2. You are so not alone. 2 weeks after my 16th birthday-circa 1987…I left cheerleading practice, driving my momma’s large silver Chevrolet, while jamming to Salt and Peppa’ and slammed into a sweet elderly woman in front of a church holding a week day service. No one was hurt-just my ego. The entire congregation joined me and the police officers while I waited in horror for my family to show up.

    • That is the worst part! Waiting on the fam to show up! IT is HORRIBLE!!!!!

      My mom was oddly cool about the whole thing. I think she was just happy I wasn’t dead nor had caused death in others.

  3. Pingback: Driving Mrs. Crazy – Part II | Woman on Pause

  4. Pingback: Driving Mrs. Crazy – The Finale | Woman on Pause

  5. 18 year old me: Is there someone behind me or can I go?
    Best friend in backseat: Yes.
    So in 1989 I backed my 1969 VW bug into the side of a police car. It was maybe the 3rd time I’d driven without my parents in the car. How did we survive being teens? Ha! The thing I dread is when our kids are teens. What then?! (I don’t know about you but they’re definitely not seeming any smarter than me…) Thanks for the laugh!

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