Wet Weather

Words by: Eric Stone 
Art by:  Luca MacIsaac

I recently crashed my car.

It wasn’t a serious accident. It was just me driving, and everyone else involved turned out fine. Completely my fault, I rear-ended this lady’s nice Volvo. One of those giant black 4WDs, the ones that look like rectangular tanks on wheels. It was raining and I was driving home from work, distracted as I fiddled with the radio while my windscreen wipers worked at full speed. I distinctly remember looking up too late, slamming my foot on the brakes and sailing into the car in front. My tyres were wet and the roads were slippery. My 20-year-old Mazda was no match. I later looked up my car’s safety rating: two stars out of ten. One for each airbag. 

But, my airbags didn’t go off. I’m not sure if this was because the crash wasn’t bad enough, or if my car’s just old and I genuinely should be worried. I remember a loud bang and seeing my car bonnet lifting in the middle. Moments before the collision, I swerved left ever so slightly, so my right headlight and front grill took the damage. 

Aside from driving distracted in wet weather, my real dilemma was actually driving it post-crash. My car was driveable, although my indicators no longer worked and my radiator looked like it was in bad shape.

I could either visit a panel beater near me (expensive but safe) or go a bit further out to get my car fixed (cheaper but more dangerous). I went with the cheaper option and it was a white-knuckle ride, with Mum driving in front of me like the safety car at the F1.  I like to think of myself as relatively risk-averse, but on that day, something in me chose something different. I had to prove myself somehow to the masters of the universe. 

Luckily enough, the car made it, and so did I. It was an expensive mistake and my car doesn’t quite feel the same, but I’ve learnt my lesson.