Another notch on my seatbelt

I’m a thankful person. Before I get out of bed each morning, I actually run through a list of all the things in my life that I’m thankful for. This list includes, naturally, my family and friends, my dog Frankenstein, my job, my health, blah, blah, blah. But two weeks ago, I added another item: seatbelts.  

I’ve been involved in at least a dozen auto accidents. Seriously, I’m in crashes so often that I don’t even count the minor ones. But the big ones (like being broadsided, or flipping a car tail-over-nose) I tend to count, akin to how I count my blessings.
When I drive, I am always — always — wearing my seatbelt. Seatbelts have saved me more than a few times, and they saved me from potentially serious injury again a couple of weekends ago, when I was in yet another accident.

It was around 6:30 p.m. on a balmy Friday evening, and I was out with some friends blowing off the week’s steam. I was riding around in a big old 1983 Chevy truck with two of my favorite people, laughing and joking and getting ready to celebrate the weekend. I felt safe enough, riding in the middle of the front seat, with my lap belt (remember, it’s an ’83 truck) securely holding me in place. 

Zooming along in the big, bouncy truck, I felt like a teenager again, touching up my makeup and joking about feeling like a high school freshman cutting class to go joyriding with a senior. I trusted Sean (who was driving) implicitly, even if he does drive a little faster than I’m generally comfortable with. He’s just got that “I’m in control” vibe that you instinctively sense.
However, even those who seem to have everything under control can’t control the actions of other drivers, and Sean is no exception. From the corner of my left eye, I saw the Camry. It was making a right turn from the left lane. We were in the far right lane traveling at least 35 mph. There were certainly no anti-lock brakes on the ’83 Chevy. 

In seemingly slow motion, I watched as Sean’s hands jerked the wheel, heard the squealing of the tires as he attempted to stop, closed my eyes, put my arms in front of my face and waited for impact. The all-too-familiar yet still sickening crunch of metal meeting metal followed. But after a second or two, whereby I shook the newly formed cobwebs from my brain, I determined that I was still alive. I opened my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. I’d survived yet another one, thanks to my seatbelt.

Climbing out of the truck, I assessed the damage. We had completely T-boned the Camry. The entire rear passenger door was crumpled and ajar, and it wouldn’t shut. The Chevy had fared much better (GM apparently used to do some things right) with just minor dents and scratches in the bumper.

The other driver and his passenger were both OK, so I was thankful for that. Moreover, they had a perfectly legitimate excuse for cutting in front of us: The young female passenger wanted Pinkberry. The young man driving attempted to oblige her by crossing traffic to turn into the strip mall to get it for her. Wow, Pinkberry must be some good stuff, since he was willing to risk the lives of all five of us to get it for her. That’s true love if I’ve ever heard of it. 

We left the young couple in the parking lot of the strip mall and hopped back into the fully intact Chevy tank. But this time I demanded the door seat, where I would also have a shoulder strap. The lap belt had kept me from bashing my hips into the dash, but I don’t think I would have smacked my arm so hard if I’d had the shoulder strap, so I insisted. 

Unfortunately, the accident kind of killed the boisterous mood we’d been in up until that point, so we called it an early night. Waking up on Saturday morning, I went through my regular list routine, this time adding that I was thankful for seatbelts.
Then, as an afterthought while rubbing my newly sore back, I also said my thanks that I’ve never tried Pinkberry. I’d hate to be responsible for smashing up yet another vehicle or endangering the lives of others just to get my — yogurt, is it? — fix.
 Happy Thanksgiving to all — but for crying out loud, be safe out there this weekend.

Contact Jennifer Hadley at jmhadley624@yahoo.com.