Once upon a time there were two women who probably had the some of the worst experiences with cars ever recorded. The following incidents are true--unfortunately, because they involved destruction of property; fortunately, because no humans or animals were harmed, thank God.
Woman A was flying her usual hades-bat speed down Airline Highway when she heard and felt a clunk. She got out to see that she had run over a speed limit sign on the median. She looked around to see if anybody had been watching and then quickly threw the sign in he back of her car. No witnesses, no evidence, nothing ever happened. I never found out what she did with the sign. Of course, that car went steadily down hill from there. I know for a fact, it was towed 200 miles from one state to another because she did not trust any mechanics except the ones at a tiny gas station in a tiny town. I will not tell you what this cost or what the Triple A people had to say about it. That very same car finally met its end when it was de-tagged and left on its own on an out-of-the-way street.
Of the three cars she now has parked in her driveway, one has no defrost and no heat, one has moss growing on the roof and one side and no windshield wipers, and the other is doing well, knock on steel. Woman A's mechanic told her never to bring the moss car back in for an oil change because the hole in it allowed what oil that was put in to flow right back out; therefore, the oil was clean during the short time it was in the car. Why three cars? Back-up, silly.
Woman B has had 16 wrecks so far in her lifetime starting with the destruction of a plate glass store front before she even got her driver's license. Long story short--foreign car, broken radio, car left in gear while the mom was in the store, key turned too far--pow! From the back seat, no less. Skipping over the dents from hitting her own parents' car, hitting a student's car in the high school parking lot, etc., there were 2 totals that happened--one for stupidity, one an Act of God. The Act of God one was really not my...ahem...Woman B's fault.
Woman A decided to let Woman B drive for awhile coming home from Oklahoma. It was sleeting. Car started to skid. Woman B turned in the direction of skid like on tv, but traveling at the speed of 10 miles per hour, the car took out a road sign and turned over twice before coming to rest right-side-up. Startled people came running out of a restaurant nearby. A highway patrolman happened to be there. Woman A and Woman B were laughing so hard, he wanted to give them a breath test, but we convinced him we were just relieved at not being hit by the six-pack of Diet Cokes that tumbled around us as we rolled. I learned that a bent frame is not a good thing, and never hold hands with your sister on a Greyhound bus going to Mississippi. I'll never get that one-toothed man leering at us across the aisle of the bus, but he did offer us a swig from his brown bag. Sigh....
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