I used to own that kind of car...not the gorgeous little red one...the ugly-ass blue thing next to it. The Datsun B210. Piece of crap.
To start things off, the dealer that sold me the car had turned back the speedometer - I had proof - the idiot left a prior bill of sale in the glove compartment that had 8,000 MORE miles on it than the current odometer. God only knows how many other times it had been sold since then. But that dealer went out of business for - turning back odometers - what a shocker.
The car NEVER ran right. It had a mind of its own and would just stop running when it felt like it. On one of the days when it just felt like it, I just happened to be on the Kennedy Bridge (THE MAIN ARTERY between Indiana and Kentucky) at about 7:40 am (PEAK RUSH HOUR) and it decided to stop running. So I carefully got out, put up the hood as a symbol to NOT HIT ME! OK, no big deal. So everybody's giving me the finger as they pass by. I can take it. No cell phone back then so I had to wait for a cop to show up.
Well I'm sitting in this piece of crap, looking in the rear view mirror and I see it coming, oh shit ... all I can do is duck and wait for the impact ... WHAM-BLAM-CRUNCH-SMASH-GRIND-EERUNGGGGGGGG! Silence. Then HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS... More silence. Then cussing and doors slamming. Then it dawns on me, I'm not dead. They didn't even touch me! I sheepishly unfold myself from the bottom of my seat and look in my rear view mirror again. Carnage. Utter, friggin' smoking carnage. The asshole I'd seen charging up behind me had slammed on his brakes, a brand-new, big-ass Cadillac slammed into the ass of that guy and a truck slammed into him. It was a MESS. And it kind of spilled-over into the middle lane of three lanes too.
Ever seen a Cadillac Slinky? I did.
Well that stopped all three lanes of traffic on my side of the bridge. The OTHER side of the bridge stopped too because this was SO damned interesting to watch. The next thing you know, there are f**king helicopters flying overhead (I am not kidding). And in the center of ALL this HELL ON EARTH sits my ugly ass B210. And me. Untouched. With the hood up.
The cops DO show up, driving the wrong way on the bridge because, as I've said, all 6 lanes both directions are blocked. They start sorting out the mess. A stern police officer comes up to me and asks if I'm OK and what's the problem? I felt the problem was rather obvious, but I explained that my car had died and it wouldn't start. He asked if he could try. Sure, go ahead, but it won't. Of course, the little piece of shit started right up for him ... the cop gave me a look that would wither granite and told me to "Go on. You weren't involved in the accident." ... tell that to the 10,000 people sitting on the bridge wanting to kill me, sir.
Imagine for a moment, in your mind ... me getting in my ugly little blue car and driving away from it all ... leaving half of the Louisville workforce trapped on the bridge while I go my merry way. I could only imagine the news chopper above zooming in on my car as I drive away and the commentary, "There goes the asshole now ... See it on WAVE TV3 at 11."
Story's not done yet.
I felt bad. I shouldn't. I know. But I did. But what all those people that wanted to beat me to a pulp DIDN'T see was my car drive to the end of the bridge, down the ramp and stall again, coasting to a stop, this time, safely off the road.
Same cop. Hour later. Done with the bridge crap. Drives down the ramp and see's my broken down ass and gives me a ride back to Indiana with a stern suggestion to "get it fixed, Boy".
Yes, sir.
I traded the bastard in and made it someone else's problem.
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