Cars: Part 2

I was a teenage smoker. I began at the age of 15 and finally quit for good when I was 28. Well ok, I will occasionally light them for people now, but I never smoke a whole one. All my friends smoked, and we were constantly finding excuses to sneak off to feed our addiction. Ironically, I was also a singer of sorts. I sang in choir, jazz choir, and madrigals at school in addition to church choir and was in a smattering of musicals as well. Thus, I took advantage of the autonomy rehearsals gave me away from my family to sneak the occasional ‘cancer stick’ as we called them. Once I had my driver's license, my parents were only too happy to lend me the car in lieu of driving me to rehearsals. The combination of my adolescent addiction to nicotine and my car curse was a recipe for disaster.

My first mishap due to this combination was relatively minor. I lied to my parents and told them that I had offered to help set up before a concert so that I could have the car and leave earlier. I had a solo in this concert, and my parents had every intention of attending but would come later. I was involved in so many groups at that time that my parents had to choose the more important concerts to attend so as not to neglect my brother’s sports. A concert where I had a solo, therefore, was a must see for them.

Instead of going to set up, I picked up my friend, Paul, and we went to a park to smoke. I figured that I had just enough time to have a quick cig with him and then make it just in time for the warm up. Now, Paul had this really bad habit of not locking the door when he got out of the car. I was constantly nagging him about it every time he would forget. That mild Spring eve was the one time he didn’t forget. As I heard the passenger-side door of my parent’s 2-door orange Buick Skylark shut, I turned in horror and yelped, “Wait!” He looked at me confused. “Did you lock the door?” I asked dreading the answer.

“Of course, you’re always bugging me to do that, so this time I finally did.”

“Shit,” I whispered under my breath and pressed my forehead against the driver-side window. There were the keys still in the ignition and both doors of the car were now locked.

First, we flagged down a police car. He said there was nothing he could do and told us to go call a locksmith. So, we went up to the nearest house, which ended up being a group home for mentally ill adults. We stood in the foyer receiving curious glances from several of the residents while one of the caretakers got the phone book. Upon seeing the phone book one resident went into a rant as we watched wide-eyed. The care-taker said something like, 'Chill out, Charlie," and Charlie went quiet but retreated to the living room muttering under his breath. A locksmith was called and arrived forty-five very long minutes later. He was able to break into the car without doing any damage, aside from the fifty dollars Paul had to pay him. I sped off to the concert, which was well under way at this point.

I snuck in the side door and said a prayer for my parents to be sitting in the balcony as I practically crawled down the aisle to where our choir was seated. The group before ours was on and our director, Mr. Birtsch, kept looking nervously around the audience. I caught his eye and mouthed, “I’m so sorry.” Our group went on, and I sang perfectly. After the concert ended, I explained to Mr. Birtsch what I had done. Then I turned to receive congratulation hugs from my parents, who had come down from the balcony where they had been seated, thank God, and were standing right behind me. Fortunately, they hadn't heard my explanation to Mr. Birtsch. I did my best to distract them and keep them away from Mr. Birtsch. I was unsuccessful, however. My father reached out to shake our director's hand and congratulated him on a fine concert, but before Mr. Birtsch could say anything about my tardiness another choir member interrupted with a question about the music stands from the orchestra and my parents bid goodbye to me and left. When both my parents and Mr. Birtsch were finally out of earshot, a friend of mine told me I stank of cigarettes.

Since I had been able to escape the disastrous consequences from my first fib about setting up before a concert, I figured there was no harm in trying it again. This time, however, my lie was that I was going to help take down the bleachers after the concert. I was not. I was off to meet my friends at Yesterdog, a unique hotdog establishment in Grand Rapids and a favourite hang out place for my teenage smoking friends and myself. Its hotdogs are famous. As a vegetarian I was a big fan of the Veggie Dog, which they still have. My parents, not being able to attend the concert and trusting me implicitly, had lent me their brand new car. It was a luxury sedan of some sort, but I’m ashamed to say that I’ve forgotten its make. I do, however, remember it being a sweet ride. At the time of my choral concert, we had owned it about 3 days.

So, I drove to Yesterdog. My friends Scott and Brenda had gone on ahead of me and were standing on the side of the road in front of the restaurant (smoking) as I approached. I indicated and slowed down to turn when—BAM. I was jolted forward suddenly by the car that had just rear-ended me. The entire back bumper of the car was dented and barely attached to the car. The driver got out and accused me of backing into him!!!???? My friends, as I mentioned earlier, were there and witnessed the entire thing. They watched as I followed the offending car into the car park…er I mean parking lot, so we could exchange details. Then as I parked my parents’ new and now and damaged automobile, they continued to watch in amazement as the car that had just hit me simply drove off.

In the end the fact that it was a hit and run worked in my favour. My father didn’t have to pay the deductible on getting the bumper replaced since it was classified as a hit-and-run. I, however, was not allowed to borrow either of my parents’ cars for a month and was told off for lying. Not that I didn't lie again in the future, however.