I’m bad at a few (hundred thousand zillion) things, which include calculus, basketball, and not wasting my whole paycheck on concert tickets. Don’t let this fool you, though. I’m actually quite good at some things, such as watching “Hot Rod” multiple times a week, scouting out vegan restaurants, and ruthlessly clearing out the DVR at home.

Driving falls somewhere in the middle of these extremes– I am neither good nor bad. I’ve had my fair share of events that skewed my reputation closer to the shitty side of the spectrum (i.e. backing up into my dad’s car in the driveway), but other than that, my record is clean. So, of course, in order to prove some weird “Annie should not be allowed to operate any motor vehicle” point, the higher power blessed my spotless record with a big fat “fuck you” blemish.

Said blemish occurred on a Friday night following a Thursday night with minimal sleep, accompanied by an early optometrist appointment, and then sprinkled with a little bit of time at Disneyland. I was driving a soccer mom van at work, where we transport students safely and efficiently to and from residences (aka drive hammered people to and from ragers). Things were actually looking pretty good for the night– this was my first call, I made a kickass playlist, and no one in my car smelled of cheap alcohol.

Now, I could say I was exhausted and failed to see the car clearly parked next to the curb. I could even say the guy sitting in the back seat distracted me by telling me how fabulous my taste in music was. However, none of this is true. I did see the car and the guy I was driving completely ignored my attempts to make conversation. Truth is, I just made a stupid mistake and accidentally sideswiped an SUV. Like any seasoned employee would do, I avoided embarrassment by calling the supervisor office directly rather broadcast my stupidity over radios for all of my coworkers to hear.

“Cruiser supervisor line, this is–”


Prior to this incident, I had a weird maybe-flirtationship with one of my supervisors (it’s not scandalous because he was hired after me, so screw you all) that seemed to be gaining momentum every day. Well, it was him on the phone. At this point I had two choices– hang up because no guy wants to be with a girl who hits stationary objects, or own up to my idiocy.

“Hey, it’s Annie. I…uh, hit a parked car.”

“Hahaha, what?”

“No, seriously. I hit a car.”



“Stay put. I’ll be there soon.”

That left me with five minutes to come up with words that both made it sound like it was the innocent parked car’s fault and made me sound like I was still kinda-maybe desirable. I came up with nothing but four-letter obscenities by the time he arrived and asked me what happened, to which I repeatedly replied, “I’m stupid.” It was taken care of in less than half an hour, and I didn’t completely die of embarrassment even when he saw my fugly driver’s license photo. Go me!

But because I  liked him and had  the tiniest amount of hope my mistake didn’t completely turn him off from the possibility of boning dating me, I did something dumb and said I didn’t want to go back to work yet. I climbed in the back to show him I had no intention of driving to the office, and he humored me by not forcing the keys into my hand, throwing me in the front seat, and pressing my foot to the gas pedal. I figured he really didn’t want to go back either because we ended up sitting and talking for over an hour in the van of damaged dreams. And he even denied thinking my ID picture was hideous. It was lovely.

And in typical Annie’s Shitty Life fashion, he never spoke to me again in person or via text. I think he blocked me on Facebook, too. He doesn’t know I regularly stalk his Twitter, though.

Just kidding. Months later, he’s still around and he’s still kind of, really, insanely awesome.


One thought on “The Time I Hit a Parked Car

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