“The Fine Print”, by M.H.
Schrader
The Demolition Derby Blues!
How many of you remember the movie Network? Raise your hands.
Come on, I know there’s more than
that! Yes, it is an admission of
age. But, what’s wrong with that?! Let’s see those hands! That’s better.
Do you remember the most famous scene
from that movie? You know the one. Where the main character (and, I must
apologize, for the life of me I can’t remember who the actor was but methinks
it was Robert Holden) tells everyone to stick their head out the window and
yell, “I’m mad as he** and I’m not taking it anymore!” Well, let’s just put it this way--if it
weren’t for the fact that my windows (those that do open) are a royal pain in
the neck to open, I would be sticking my head out the window telling the world
that I’m mad. Whether anyone would
really care is a different story. (Of
course, with my luck lately, I’d probably be arrested for disturbing the peace.)
Why am I mad? Well, because someone didn’t know how to drive, I now have to
spend money that I didn’t know I was going to spend on a car that I didn’t know
I was going to have to buy. Until about
7 PM last Sunday, that is.
You see, that is when I discovered that
somebody had clobbered my car. And, to
add insult to injury, it was parked right in front of my house.
They say a man’s home is his castle. When your car gets smashed in front of your
own house, it leaves one to suspect just how sturdy those fortress walls really
are, you know? To top if off, based on
the fact that there was absolutely no swerve in the skid marks, if my car had
not been parked there, in all probability the vehicle that hit my car would
have hit my house.
“Hello, Dominos? Yeah, I want to order a pizza. Address?
Well, it’s the house with the car sticking out of it!”
When I was down in Texas over Memorial
Day, brother Stephen commented that in the four years he’s been in Texas, he
has had three vehicles wiped out. He
has now bought a very large truck as a challenge to his fellow motorists-- ”Hit
this, buster!”
Well, between Mrs. Schrader and me, we
have brother Stephen beat. We have been
in Arkansas just under three years, and have now been hit four times! Twice while parked!
And now the gruesome litany. Struck (in a government vehicle, no less) by
a truck that ran a red light. Struck by
a car (who proceeded to drive away from the collision, never to be heard from
again) that blew a stop sign. Struck by
a bus (that’s right, a bus--your tax dollars at work) while parked, and now
struck by a van going at least 50 down a residential street, who, after
crunching my little car, proceeded to drive away down the street before my
neighbor could get a license.
Which leaves me stuck. Vehicleless. And mad.
I feel like I have been violated. My car was a gift from myself to myself, and
was the only new car that I have ever owned.
It has taken me all over the eastern United States and parts of
Canada. It may not have looked quite as
snazzy as it once did, but it wasn’t a dog, either. And still dependable after all these years. Heck, it even predated Mrs. Schrader! The last remnant, shall we say, of my
partying (yeah, right!) bachelor days.
Gone.
In one felled crunch. Nine years
of memories. Kind of like losing a
member of the family.
Now begins the search for a
replacement. No matter how much I would
like to, I can’t go back. I bought that
car when I was single and unfettered.
Now I have Mrs. Schrader and the little Schraders, so my automotive
needs are quite a bit different. Like
brother Stephen, I’m also thinking big.
I’ve kind of envisioned something like
the RV in the movie Stripes. Roomy for a family, and armored for your
protection. Fully armored. A big Batcar. Virtually indestructible.
“Hit this, buster!”