I used to drive fast.

To me, stop signs were merely suggestions, the yellow light meant go faster, and the speed limit was just a number on the highway of life only to be acknowledged whenever the Highway Patrol would show its pleasant existence.

I enjoyed driving. It was fun. A trip to the market became a zany adventure, one which my roommates wished they didn’t have to be a part of. I thought I could drive like a moron forever. Why? Because I was Josh Robison, and when it came to avoiding catastrophe, I lived a charmed life.

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But that was then, prior to my little accident.

Now I am a monk on wheels, stopping twice at each stop sign just to make sure. I drive the speed limit, and now other drivers seem to be reckless maniacs driving with wanton abandon a category that I used to be a part of.

It’s funny how a little fender bender will alter your entire view on driving, one of life’s simplest activities.

About a week ago, I was in my car driving home. It was raining and cold, and it was at that point in the day when headlights don’t really help you see any better but you need to have them on so others can see you. Driving north on Poplar Street, I was following a completely innocent individual a bit too closely. I really didn’t think anything of it, though. If the other driver happened to stop suddenly, I would just make some sort of Dukes of Hazard move and everything would be all right.

The driver happened to put on his brake light at the exact moment I cursed various radio stations to hell because they weren’t playing the songs I wanted to hear at that moment. (I have to look at the radio to curse it).

When I looked back up at the road (the one I was driving on), the car in front of me had almost come to a complete stop. Realizing I was too close to avoid smashing into his rear bumper, I opted to avoid collision by driving around him on his left.

Interestingly enough, he was turning left (I had missed his blinker because of the radio stations, remember?).

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Well shoot, I thought, This certainly isn’t an ideal situation.

So I slammed on my brakes, hoping to, by some miracle, stop prior to hitting him. This wasn’t the case.

The collision itself was fairly minor. I wasn’t traveling fast enough to do any serious damage, except, of course, to my pride which happened to be DOA. He wasn’t pleased, but I must admit he behaved in an extremely civil manner, especially considering his car had just been hit by a renegade dork.

I called the police, who arrived quite promptly and even tried to make me feel good about myself by explaining that, It was an accident, and I’m sure you haven’t been driving around looking for a white, two-door car to hit.

This was an accurate assessment. I certainly wasn’t doing that.

Forms were filled out, and we went our separate ways. Thus, the easy part was over. Now I had to deal with the parental situation.

The last time I was in trouble with the law (which, incidentally, was all Seth’s fault), I hesitated to call my parents and tell them, thinking that perhaps I could avoid them knowing about the situation all together. I shouldn’t have been so naive.

So this time I called them immediately.

Well, these things happen, my father said.

Translation:Not to me, of course, but to my dimwit offspring, yes, these things happen.

Well, I guess these things happen, my mother said.

Translation:When is this one’ going to figure things out?

Well, these things do happen, that’s why we have insurance,

my insurance agent said.

Translation:Well, these things happen, that’s why I’m an insurance agent.

My roommates, who usually are mildly amused when I tell them about my various misadventures, seemed to have a change of heart. This time they were overwhelmingly amused. Two still are laughing.

I suppose it was just an accident, but like all accidents it could have been so easily avoided.

If only the radio stations would start doing their jobs, things like this wouldn’t happen.