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Accidents happen (unfortunately)

 

Alex Welch
Assistant Editor

  Iíve only been in one traffic collision in my entire life. When I was around 9 years old, someone ran a red light and fishtailed my momís car. It wasnít too traumatizing. Ever since I started driving, though, Iíve seemed to evade trouble. Unfortunately, my car accident total doubled last week, as I was involved in a five-car (yes, five) accident on I-75 on my way to work.

 Atlanta traffic is awful. Thatís putting it nicely and holding back on any profanity just for your sake. I currently reside in Cherokee County, which means I make a lengthy trek to McDonough every weekday. I donít mind the trip at all. Itís only mildly irritating when someone forgets to stop in traffic and rams your car into another driver.

 Last Tuesday, as I made it past the exit for I-285, traffic was basically at a crawl. Of course, the slightest break in traffic translates to everyone flooring it, which naturally bodes well for the next time the accordion motion of I-75 brings us to a screeching halt.

 What happened? A guy driving a Honda Accord ran into a girl driving a Scion who was pushed into the guy driving the Sante Fe who was pushed into me who was pushed into the CR-V. You know, just your everyday accident.

 I called my dad right after the accident occurred. I believe his first words were, ďHow bad does the car look?Ē Nothing gives you a better sense of concern than a parent worrying more about the vehicleís condition. Donít worry, dad, all of my limbs are still attached.

 The following day, I went to pick up a rental car from Enterprise. My reservation was set for 7:30 a.m. When I called at 7:40 a.m. to confirm, one employee told me they probably wouldnít have a car available until after lunch. It immediately reminded me of the ďSeinfeldĒ episode where Jerry doesnít get the rental car he reserved. ďYou know how to TAKE the reservation, you just donít know how to HOLD the reservation.Ē

 I ended up getting a Nissan Versa. Itís a nice ride, but it doesnít exactly scream masculinity. Although, I was driving my momís leather-seated Accord before the accident, so I guess this was an easy transition.

 The worst part about being in a five-car accident is talking to five insurance companies afterward. I literally spent three or four hours on the phone the day it happened. A few days after the whole ordeal, I found out the driver who caused the wreck actually didnít even have insurance. The information he initially gave was false. Iím not sure how that slipped past everyone for several days, but Iím also not sure how insurance really works in the first place.

 Now Iím stuck searching for a new car, as my 2000 Accord with 195,000 miles isnít worth repairing. And come to find out, dealing with used car owners really isnít that fun. My dad found a car on Craigslist we were interested in. He contacted the owner to ask if we could take a look, and he received a response that said, ďYes, you can look at it.Ē No contact info, no mention of a potential meeting location. This guy has an odd way of doing business. When we finally got around to looking at the car, we discovered the front bumper had been replaced, and the paint job was rather pedestrian (you could literally see paint drips down the front). The owner assured us the appearance wasnít what mattered, because itís whatís on the inside that counts. But Iím shallow. Looks are important to me.

 You kind of develop post-traumatic stress disorder after an accident. Every time I come to a stop on I-75 now, I canít help but worry about the car behind me.

 Accidents are part of life, though. At least I wasnít hurt, I guess. All five parties involved walked away fine. The girl who I bumped into suffered minimal scraping to the back of her SUV. She was the only one out of the five of us who cried. I wanted to say, ďWhy are you crying? Iím the one who needs a new car.Ē Moral of the story: If you want to avoid accidents, take the HOV lane at all times. Or find a way to teleport. Google will have an app for that soon.

 

 Alex is an editor who would eat at Waffle House every day if he didnít care about his health.

 

 

 

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