Classic Content: When in a Wreck, Don’t Forget the Blood Capsules

 No, I did not recently have a wreck. This is a Brain Fart that dates to April 2006, and it still pops into my head occasionally when I see a wreck on the highway.

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Through no fault of my own, I was recently involved in a minor traffic accident. It was one of those chain-reaction situations, where traffic stops on a major highway (in this case I-264 in Louisville), and the braking time gets shorter and shorter for drivers who are barreling along at 65 mph.

Unfortunately, while I was able to stop in plenty of time and the woman driving the vehicle behind mine was able to stop as well, the young lady behind her was not. (I only caught a glimpse of her in my rear-view mirror as I braced for impact, but it appeared she was simultaneously talking on her phone, eating a sandwich, re-doing her makeup and training a monkey to build Lego houses while trying to drive. (Studies have shown that most teen-age girls can do three of those, but the monkey thing tends to be the tipping point.)

At any rate, she slammed into the back of one car, and that car ran into the back of mine. Fortunately for me, I drive a Jeep, and that big tire I have on the back generally absorbs a lot of impact. My vehicle wasn’t damaged at all. However, I still had to wait around for the police to arrive.

And wait. And wait.

And wait.

And this was on the Watterson Expressway during rush hour. Cars honked at us from behind (as if we just decided to park and enjoy the sunshine) and, most notably, rubber-neckers driving east on the other side of the expressway stared into our very souls as we sat helpless. Usually, I don’t get to see the faces of these people, only the backs of their heads as I drive behind them wondering why they are so fascinated by a broken headlight or crinkled bumper.

But this time, I was able to look right into their eyes. Even stared a few down, and they didn’t flinch – like I was an animal in a zoo. I believe the rubber-neckers are convinced it is their divine right to stare at you after you’ve been in an auto accident. And I swear that I even saw some guy with a camera phone taking photos of us while we sat there. Get a hobby, pal – I mean, seriously.

Do you know what? I found myself wishing I had some of those fake-blood capsules pro wrestlers use. I could roll my eyes back in my head, bite down on a couple of blood capsules, and give those idiots a show. Blood would be running out of my mouth, all down the front of my shirt. THAT would make a great picture for the camera-phone idiot to share with his friends.

But after a while I realized that I had also begun rubber-necking at the passing traffic, much like the chimpanzee does when he stares at the zoo visitors while picking his nose. (Although I swear I wasn’t picking my nose.)

I then found myself staring into THEIR souls and thinking things like, “Look at that mutated freak show,” and “How does that derelict survive in society?” and “Was that guy missing an ear?”

I suppose the moral to the story is: Don’t get in a wreck, because if you do, a bunch of idiots are going to drive by staring at you, and you’ll feel like a chimp in a zoo with snot on his fingers and blood capsules in his mouth. Or maybe it should just be: Don’t get in a wreck.

Gee, I wonder if I made the 6 o’clock news?