Flirting With Death

Like always, there's a fair amount of construction going on the freeway by our house these days. It makes me nervous because in these zones, they do away with the usual emergency pull out lanes because there's no space for them (I guess?) so there's nowhere to swerve if things get ugly. There were a lot of trucks on the freeway today as I made my way home with the boys. It was so unnerving being sandwiched between a semi and a concrete wall that I became convinced several times that the trucks were about to move into my lane and I kept flooring the gas to get ahead of them. Finally, it occurred to me that I could just go into the fast lane if I wanted to stop stressing about being smashed by a semi since they're not even legally allowed to enter that lane.

We were getting close to the end of the construction zone when the semi truck to the right of me started merging into my super-safe-from-giant-trucks lane. No worries, there's well over 1 foot of buffer room that I can veer left into so I move as close to the wall as I can, careening through blown-out tires and flooring the gas, hoping to get ahead of him in time. But I can see that it's not gonna cut it--it's close but we won't quite clear the front of his cab. So I did the only thing that I could think to do...and really, as anyone who frequently hangs out with me knows, it was the only thing that I was ever going to do in a situation like this. It was almost as if all my life had been preparing me for this moment: I let out a wild, "eeeeEEEEEEeeeeEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!" And just like that, the foot to the left of my lane expanded into five feet and it was just enough to make the difference and we hurled through the death trap untouched. The boys were laughing and begging me to do it again. I looked in my rear view mirror just as the driver managed to over correct, fishtail for a while, and finally get it together without killing anyone.

After we were in front of the truck, it occurred to me that I should try to get the number on the back of the truck so I could call the company and inform them that one of their drivers seems to be taking a page from the stylings of a pinball machine. I moved to the right lane and slowed down, waiting for the truck to pass but it kept slowing down with me and after we cleared the construction zone, he pulled over onto the side of the road so I pulled over just in front of him. Prepared to give him a piece of my mind and take down his information, I grabbed the only useful things available to write with: half of a blue crayon and a Halloween coloring book. I must have made an intimidating sight because as soon as the driver saw me, he burst into tears and could only muster, "sorry, sorry...so sorry..." while wrapping me up in a bear hug. Eventually, he told me that there must be something wrong with the vehicle because it just started veering left, that he had been really scared, and was now gonna head straight to the shop. I mumbled something along the lines of, "yeah...you'd better...that was not a safe thing you had going on there...what with almost killing us and all..." Not quite the hard ass lecture I'd planned. He started crying and hugging me again, this time giving my shoulder a kiss which was every bit as sweet as it was unnerving. Well. Maybe more on the unnerving side. But still sweet. I think.

We parted ways after that and I didn't get any information. Partly because I just couldn't wait to get home and because leaving my kids on the side of the freeway so that I could take the precarious walk to the back of his truck sounded really unappealing. I really do hope that it was just a problem with the truck and that he's able to get it fixed. And I'm more excited than ever for us to reach the point where the norm is for cars to drive themselves. Because as fond as most people are of being in total denial of this fact, basically all of us are terrible drivers. 

So it seems like I should feel...I don't know...different after almost dying along with my babies. But I just mostly felt hungry. As soon as we got back, I ate a big sandwich while reflecting on the incident. The main thing that stands out is the confirmation that my last words really will likely be some sort of unintelligible squeaky shriek. And also I keep feeling the urge to quote Syrio Forel, "What do we say to the god of death?
Not today."

Yup. Luckily.