I was recently involved in a minor car accident. I’d never even gotten a speeding ticket, so it totally rattled me. Like, I didn’t even know what I was supposed to do or what I was supposed to hand over, besides my insurance information [God damn it what IS my insurance information!?]
I never realized how much SHIT was stuffed into my glove compartment until I realized I needed one small piece of paper. Note to self: clean out glove compartment.
When I stepped out of the car with jello legs, the gentleman involved said, I’ve called the police.
Unaware of that being standard procedure, my thoughts turned to the worst. Oh my God. I’m going to jail! I’m not ready for Orange to be the New Black!
Cory, who I had just had lunch with, made a u-turn and drove back to “the scene” to meet me, because I’m incapable of handling situations like this alone. [Any other fake adults out there?]
He asked what happened, and I told him the cops had been called, and I’d probably be arrested and sent to death row.
Ladies and gentlemen, this was a parking lot fender bender.
And a rude awakening to the fact that I should probably take a fucking chill pill.