Something new every day

As those motivational bastards like to say, a new day brings forth new experiences. They continue on about seizing the day and blah blah blah, but I'm not going on a motivational tangent today, so I'll stop at that.

Once upon a time, on a dark and stormy afternoon, Dad picked me up from college because I'm not allowed to drive alone, and before you snicker, it's because the basement car park in college is so dark that I need to lug along a can of pepper spray with me if I'm alone, NOT because I'm a lousy driver. Remember that.

Anyway, Dad picked me up and we were traveling along the Seremban highway, chatting about class. Dad pointed out the ramp I needed to get on if I was driving homeward-bound, and we were passing under an overhead bridge when suddenly the Isuzu Trooper in front with a very shiny and sturdy iron bumper (you may wonder how I know this. It'll be explained in a moment) slammed on the emergency brakes. Dad hit the brakes as well, and the tires locked. Evidently, it was a conspiracy of nature, because locked tires and wet roads don't make happy bedmates.

You know that sorta-doomish uh-oh feeling you get when you know you can't brake in time? I got that feeling, and sure enough, we hit the sturdy shiny bumper of the Isuzu Trooper. Surprisingly though, I didn't panic. What I did do was clutch my bag a little tighter and straightened my leg against the, erm, the leg-space area to brace for the impact.

I'm beginning to think I have pretty good self-control. You know, a cool and steady head when it comes to the crunch. Heh.

Anyway, needless to say, the Isuzu Trooper suffered next to no damage. Maybe the sturdy shiny bumper was a little less shiny after being rear-ended by my dad's Wira, which has a bumper made of twice-recycled aluminium cans. Nothing that can't be rectified with a little elbow grease. Our hood though, was apparently made of the exact same twice-recycled aluminium, cos it immediately bent into an extremely grotesque angle as it absorbed the impact of the crash and probably saved us all from dying. Sometimes I wonder who the heck believes the salesman's drivel.

I could already imagine my mom screeching "How fast were you traveling?!?!" in the inevitable phone call. You see, my dad drives a little souped up Wira (from 0 to 100 in 4.8 seconds whoohooo!) and being a mom, Mom would always keep an eye on the speedometer and make little growling noises whenever it hits 80. On a highway, no less.

After we pulled over, the guy driving the Trooper, and he was a BIG guy, got out of his car, and as he walked over, he kept cursing the Iswara parked under the overhead bridge. Apparently, the Iswara was in front of the Trooper and had braked suddenly because a kid inside wanted to pee, which resulted in the Trooper having to brake suddenly in order to not bang it, which in turn resulted in my dad having brake suddenly, only it didn't work out so nicely for my dad. Poor Dad.

Thankfully the Trooper suffered no damage and dad only had to pay for his own damages. We got back into our respective cars, threw baleful glances at the Iswara and its occupants, and went on our merry way. Only it wasn't about to turn out so merrily after all. *cue dramatic DUN DUN DUN music*

As it happened, apart from Mom's constant nagging about his speed, Dad's decision to turbo boost his car came back to bite him in the ass again today. The fan that cools the car was damaged in the crash, which resulted in the temperature rising. It hit 100 when we were on the Sri Petaling section of Kesas highway, and as Murphy would have it, the ubiquitous traffic jam materialised out of nowhere and we were stuck in an overheating car.

After a period of maybe 4 minutes, we realised the car wasn't going to make it all the way back home. If you're wondering how we knew, it's because my dad's temperature reader thingy makes a rather annoying noise when the car's overheating. It sounds like a beeping bomb timer you see in Hollywood movies, which in this case is kinda applicable in a morbid sorta way. So we stopped the car by the roadside, and Dad made a call to my workshop-operating uncle to get a tow truck operator who wouldn't charge RM500 per tow. Dad also took the opportunity to practice his French. *grins*

Anyway, 4 tow truck runners, 2 inquisitive motorbike riders, and 25 very-warm minutes later, the tow truck finally arrived. The uncle was very friendly, and Dad chatted with him while I sat in the car reading the newspaper. And now, finally, after reading all those words above, comes the gist of today's post. My new and exciting experience was sitting in a car that is being towed by a tow truck. Whoohooo!

Being towed by a tow truck was really cool. Obviously, since I wasn't the one responsible for smashing up the car, I can say that with a certain audacity. If I had been the one who banged into the Isuzu Trooper, boy would I be completely mortified. My dad would probably have given me an earful too. As it turned out, we had a pretty nice chat about what to do if I ever was in the same situation. I spent the rest of the journey peering out of the jacked up windows and waving gleefully at passing motorists. Dad was busy covering his face from the onlookers with the newspaper I'd been reading previously.

And now my mom tells me there's a 1.5 litre can of Coffee Crumble waiting for me in the freezer. Life is good.

But maybe not for Dad.