I was in more than my share of car accidents when I was a child. I found them terrifying.
I remember this one woman who was quite attractive. We were traveling with a goat and I told the goat to eat her bra, even though I was not quite sure what a bra was. The lady told me to never speak to her in such a way again. I got scared and agreed.
So we were driving back from the country and I was all drowsy in the back seat when whack, screech, crash, we were in an accident.
I don’t remember many details but I don’t think anyone was seriously hurt. Our car was finished and we had to wait around for a ride.
I did not get seriously hurt in any childhood accident, but they scared me to death and I formed a strong preference early on in my life for safety.
When I was a teenager, I had some friends who liked to get squirrly behind the wheel. I’d be stuck in the back seat and if the roads were slick from rain, they’d deliberately start sliding all over the place. For them it was great fun, for me it was pure terror.
At one point when I thought I was going to die, I pled with my friends to drive safely “because I haven’t even had sex yet.”
Eventually, when the car stopped, I jumped out and walked miles home.
When I learned to drive, I was in several accidents in my first couple of years, all my fault. The most serious and the most embarrassing was at age 19 when I drove around a corner into the morning sun tuning the radio dial and ran into a parked school bus at about 25 mph. Even though I had my seatbelt on, my head smashed into the steering wheel. The front end of my VW bug was totaled. I looked up to the windows of the school bus and the kids were staring down at me.
I staggered out of my car and sat on the ground until an ambulance came and took me to the hospital. I got about 30 stitches and have the scar between my eyes to this day.
A few years ago, an Orthodox rabbi responded to my interview request. He picked me up in his car and driving erratically, he got on his cell phone to make calls while we traveled down the freeway at about 65 mph. I was terrified. I asked him to desist.
The next time I was to drive a long distance with him, I made him promise not to talk on his phone while he was driving unless it was an emergency. He promised.
So we’re flying down the freeway at about 75mph one Friday afternoon and he’s on his Blackberry looking through his email. “You didn’t say anything about checking my email,” he said.
The guy is reckless.
Another time, he started driving crazily just to taunt me. I cursed him out and he realized I was serious.
“I guess you’ve been in some serious accidents,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
I remember riding with another friend. We’re going down the freeway at about 65 mph and he starts scanning his iPod for the particular song he wants me to hear. I plead with him to keep his attention on the road but he won’t be deterred.
I have such fury about this incident when I recall it many years later. I’m filled with such resolve to not let it happen again.
Another time, my girlfriend picked me up to drive 20 minutes east on the 10 to downtown Los Angeles. She didn’t tell me until afterwards that she’d had a valium to handle her anxiety about this party and was not all there while she had my life in her hands.
I asked her to stay off her phone while she drove. She agreed, and then, traveling at about 60 mph, gets on her phone. “I’m just checking my messages,” she said. “I’m not making any calls.”
I hate people who unnecessarily and carelessly and cruelly put innocent lives in danger. I hate people who screw around on the road.
I’ve worked hard to create a protected life. I’ve arranged things so that I can be safe and yet still write what I want. But when I’m on the road, particularly as a passenger, I feel so vulnerable.
