Five minutes from our house, on the little two-lane country highway, I was tooling along, deedle-dee, the children are at grandma's for the day so I shall go to Goodwill and maybe T.J. Maxx, when hello, Mister Hood, I do not believe you are supposed to be straight up in the air and in my face whilst I am driving, plus you make it awfully hard to see where I'm going- impossible, in fact- and I do not appreciate all this glass that is now all over my person from the windshield you just shattered with a dramatic BAM while I was driving 60 miles per hour and minding my own business.
I have mentally referred to this vehicle by the affectionate name Bison bison for some time now, being that the van is big and hulking and loud and more endangered than the actual bison, plus it travels the plains of the midwest. I'd also hoped that a title like that would inspire it to be as majestic as its namesake, though the genus-species reference was sheer flattery, I admit.
After today, however, I think Death Trap is a little more fitting.
The bright side:
- I had a couple inches of sight below the hood when it was up, just enough to allow me to maneuver to the narrow shoulder and out of harm's way.
- I hadn't made it to the interstate yet, which would have made the whole thing more treacherous.
- The children weren't with me.
- Everyone I interacted with, from the lady on the phone at dispatch to the policeman to the tow truck driver to the mechanic, was incredibly kind to me. The tow truck driver was so nice ("Man, you're having a bad day," "Don't worry, we'll get you taken care of," "You're handling this all really well!") I was tempted to ask him to scale it back a bit; I need brisk kindness in these situations; if you're too nice tears threaten, and no one wants to see that, least of all me, and because he got there pretty quickly I was still relatively shaken from the whole thing.
And see? I got to make a list after all.