Tuesday, November 10

Die! Die! Die!

Last night, on the way home from the movies--and we were completely happy campers, singing in the car and loving life and blowing kisses to everyone we saw--we stopped at a railway crossing while the train approached. Hayden was excited to see the train and we wound down the window and said, "Look, Hayden! It's a train, and it's coming this way. Yay!" Yes, we were happy campers, until we felt a huge bump from behind. Apparently, the Mitsubish Lancer from behind had rolled off its brakes and hit my bumper.

Straightaway, the mood changed. I stepped out of my car, headed over to the Lancer and demanded to speak to the driver. The driver, a Polynesian lady with unattractive voice started to stammer. She started to tell me how minute the bump was and how she was on the phone because her sister was in the hospital in the ICU unit (whatever that was) and how her husband had called to see how her sister was doing and how she had accidentally let go of her brakes and how the car rolled and how it hit my car. I was fuming, though I bit my tongue. What in the world was she thinking? It is people like her that cause accidents on the freeway, making everyone late to work! It is people like her that cause long lines on the freeway!

Then the funniest thing happened. She came out of her car and showed me how she was bumped from behind a few days ago and how she did not even fix anything because she thought nothing of it. And this was when I began to mouth off at her. Jesus would not be proud of me and the devil was ready to embrace me and call me a good son. I asked her for her contact information and took pictures of the damage on my bumper. She begged me not to file a claim through her insurance; she would settle it with me privately. I said no problem and I told her to pay for everything, including a new bumper. I told her that my car was like my baby, and nobody messes with my baby!

I flipped her off and spat on her car. Oh, and did I mention that I kicked her tires? Well, I did. And some foreign languages began to surge out of my mouth that I thought I was speaking in tongues. I was cussing like the crazy old Mrs. Mombaza who lives two blocks from my house. She'd be proud of me. And here were my last words:

"Die! Die! Die! I hope you and your clan and your sister in the ICU and your husband and any child or children that you have and may have will die a horrible death. You will all seize to exist! You and your entire race on heaven and on earth will die, die, die! And I hope your car will explode and your mom--" I can't remember anything beyond this point. My wife had taken over the wheels and she was rubbing my back and singing me a sweet lullaby to calm me down. And I have to say, I feel the spirit again and I was all happy and taking deep breaths. I was ready to forgive. I even smiled.

I did not bother to look at the damage again and decided to look at it in the morning. My wife told me that all was well. The damage was no damage at all. No dent, no paint peeled. Only a minute, minute scratch. No one would notice. I believed her and went to bed.

Come this morning, I woke up with a smile. Had my breakfast and got ready to work. When I was in my garage, the first thing I checked was my car bumper. I squinted and saw nothing. There was a moment when I thought I had dreamed the entire ordeal. It was as if nothing had happened. Then, a sliver of light gave way to the small scratch that was there, and my heart fell like Satan and his armies eons ago.

And this was when I opened my mouth and screamed "Die! Die! Die!" and a host of other-worldly verbal expressions that would give the devil tears of pride and joy came out of my mouth like diarrhea. Secretly in my heart today, I prayed hard that the lady in the Lancer would die with her entire family and her clan and her race. I love a good revenge.

And if you think I am joking, bring it on! No one messes with my car!

No comments: