Sunday May 15, 2011

It’s a little bit after 6am and I’m on the Friar’s Hill Development Road heading home. The rain was still continuing its onslaught on the world (or at least the island) that it had started from the night before. I remarked to myself about how unjust the rain was for maybe being pissed off at one person and instead just ruining everyone else’s day.

A peaceful drive home...

The same time I was about to chuck my middle finger up to the sky, I saw a green blur through the West Indies Oil fence as I was about to enter the long right curve. A half second later I realized that it was a car coming through the curve in the opposite direction. I didn’t pay much mind to this until I realized that the car was coming around the curve drifting, and on my side of the road… “FUCK!!!”

He was still some distance away from me so I started slowing down to give him more time to realize that there was a car coming from the opposite direction, and to correct himself. As my perceived trajectory of the car wasn’t changing, something in the back of my mind clicked and said, “Fuck this guy! He’s not going to correct shit!” At that point life paused for me and it became one of those multiple plotline storybooks I used to read as a kid. You know, the ones where it got to a messed up climax and the main character (you) had to make a decision to see what happens next in the story. “If you punch Marcy in the stomach and tell her the baby isn’t yours, turn to page 17. If you become ecstatic and accept the kid as being yours even though you know she only gave you a blow job with her clothes on, turn to page 24.” You guys know what I’m talking about?

Anyways, I got to the bottom of the current page in the EPIC story that is my life and was presented with these options:

• “If you pull off the road completely and  swear profusely at this moron while making sure to mention his mother in a manner that would allow her to be perceived as a slut every other sentence, go to page 31.”
• “If you remain on the road, spread your arms, tilt your head to the sky, close your eyes and exclaim, ‘TAKE THE WHEEL JESUS!!!’, go to page 55.”
• “If you take out a knife and stab it with your face because ‘REAL niggaz do REAL things’ and you can’t get into Thug Mansion by dying in a punk ass car accident, go to page 109.”

I took an extra second to weigh out all of my options. “If I pulled off the road, there is the chance that he won’t correct his car at all and come straight off of it and hit me. More importantly, I wouldn’t get to cuss his mother out while he passed by. If I told Jesus to take the wheel, there is a chance that he may say, ‘When’s the last time you been to church and given your 10% mother fucker?’, get pissed off, and steer the guy’s car right into me since he doesn’t ‘play that’. If I stabbed the knife with my face, sure I’d end up in Thug Mansion, but after skimming through the lyrics in my mind real quick, there was no mention of bitches being up in Thug Mansion. From the way Pac laid it down, it was just a house full of dudes hanging out with their shirts off and pants sagging, spending ‘quiet nights’ together. Sounds like some borderline GAY shit to me… Now that I think about it, Pac was probably thinking about jail and maybe even wrote that song in jail and… *leaves that argument there*” OK, decision time…

*turns to page 31*

“…FUCK!!!”

I pulled completely off of the road on the grass on my side and waited. I must say that at this point the dude had a pretty good drift going coming around that curve. Like if this was Need for Speed, he’d have a X8 multiplier. All he needed to do was not lock up the brakes or give any more gas, and just trust in his car to take him around the corner and towards a new high score. However, that wouldn’t have made for a good enough story for him.

On exiting the main part of the curve, his car stopped drifting and instead just slightly straightened up and was sliding towards me. “FUCK!” I thought as he came on to the grass, “He either locked up the brakes or just said, ‘Fuck it!’” Since he was on the wet grass I knew there wasn’t anything else either of us could do at that point. I started to regret not staying on the road and leaving things up to my homie J.C. (my bad homie), but I DEFINITELY didn’t regret skipping out on Thug Mansion (PHUQ YA’LL!!!).

As his car was careening towards me, I made the decision to get the most out of turning to page 31 and started cussing up a storm before the dude hit me and I risked not being able to do it after. So for the last two seconds before impact, I leaned forward as if the dude driving the other car was sitting on the bonnet and unleashed every single word of hate and filth that my English and Antiguan Dialect lexicon would allow me to. The moment our cars were about to collide, I looked over into the other car so that in the event I died, I’d at least see the face of the punk who killed me. Strangely enough, the only things I was seeing were two empty car seats. WTF??!!

That puzzled the heck out of me. I even started questioning if this was real. “Great!” I thought, “I was about to crash into a runaway car and I spent the moments before that swearing at nobody. Ain’t that a bitch?” A greater feeling of impending doom suddenly came over me. “FUCK!!! If by some miracle I survive this, my sister (the fire breathing dragon who owns the car whose last words before leaving for China were to take care of it and not do anything stupid) was going to kill me!!!”

CRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

My life was suddenly being shot at 120 frames per seconds and played back at 32 (for you non-video junkies; I’m in slow-mo). As my nose and forehead were about to be pressed against the windshield, I closed my eyes and listened to my brain telling my larynx to “scream like a little bitch”. It accepted the request, made the necessary tonal adjustments and vibrations, and started to produce the required shriek. However, the airbag was not going to have any of this. As soon as the first “ARR-” for the scream was leaving my tongue, the airbag with his booming voice shouted at me, “MAN UP!!!” before deploying in my chest; pushing me back in my seat.

The impact caused the back of the car to lift up into the air a bit and I remember seeing the road, then some grass, then the road again. “Oh.” I thought, “This reminds me of that spinning teacup ride… man I miss Coney Island!” The car came to an abrupt stop from hitting something in the back. The car was now filled with the smoke from the busted airbag and the only thing going through my mind was to Spartan kick the door open and beat the crap out of that guy. It sounded like a good plan, but the only thing was that my legs weren’t exactly cooperating.

"Why me huh homie?"

I looked down and saw that both my knees had the dashboard wrapped around them (it sucks being tall *sighs*). I swore in my mind a little bit and looked outside to see if I saw any signs of life coming from the other dude. In doing so, I realized that I had ended up on the other side of the road and that his car was still on my side. The reverse lights of his car suddenly came on and I saw his car backing out from where it stopped and then back on to the road. Was this dude trying to leave? Nah, it couldn’t be… but why move the car though?

It became evident that he was trying to bail when his reverse lights came off and the car did a slight jerk forward like it does when you take it out of reverse gear. I started freaking out and tried moving but my legs still weren’t cooperating. Thankfully, his car was unable to move forward, or at least so it appeared. He put it in reverse and moved it again but on putting it in a forward gear the car didn’t budge. I started choking on the smoke in the car which was now thicker since the windows were up, but I could still see enough to make out the dude coming out of his car, standing in front of mine looking through the windshield, and then heading back to his car again. He then pushed his car out of the middle of the road and then back on to his side.

I started choking on the smoke so I opened my door to let some of it out. I called my girlfriend while drowning in a fit of deep coughs and told her I got into an accident on my way home and that I needed to swing by. Expecting to hear… I don’t know… concern, sadness, anger, *just toss something in here guys*, (heck, I would have accepted her hanging up the phone on me), this chick instead sounded like she was on the floor rolling with laughter. Like we having a three minute convo of me coughing up a lung and a testicle trying to CONVINCE (can you believe this $h!t?) this chick that I just got into an accident not far from her spot and can’t move my legs; and she was on the line acting like she was watching the third season of the Chappelle Show. This is probably what I get for being a big joker about everything. I got hella annoyed and hung up from her and regrettably called my moms; the drama queen. *sighs and rolls eyes*

As expected, she freaked the heck out. I got annoyed with her too and eventually hung up on because I couldn’t take it anymore. Why couldn’t Killer and my other homies be in Antigua right now? *grumbles*

I sat there for a bit trying to get through to 911, but “surprise surprise” I was getting some error message from LIME’s network. At the same time I was plotting my defection to the Digicel bandwagon, a jeep pulled up in front of me and the person jumped out, called 911, and actually got through. On witnessing this, I flipped my middle finger in the direction I thought the nearest LIME cell site was in. Man, where is Airtel when you need them?

The guy in the jeep then came around to my side of the car and addressed me by my name when asking if I was ok. Startled, I looked up and realized it was my homie Burke. Two other people from surrounding homes were now on the scene as well and they shockingly were asking me the same exact question: “What did you hit?”

“The fuck do you mean ‘What did I hit?’, don’t you see the car over the-… *turns to look for the car he hit which was now not where he remembered it being* WHAT IN THE FUCK???!!!”

I’m not going to lie; I honestly thought I was on drugs. I mean, no really… it made perfect sense. OK, check it… First off, someone was drifting with a stock Nissan Primera on stock wheels on a wet road. Secondly, when I looked into the car on impact, there was no one in the driver’s seat or in the entire car for that matter. Thirdly, I actually gave going to Fag Thug Mansion a thought and finally, the car I hit wasn’t there anymore; but my mangled car still was. If I wasn’t phuq-ed on weed and snorting coke off of midget strippers, I didn’t know what I was.

I looked a bit further down the road and glimpsed the dude’s car some distance away from where he initially pushed it. I pointed the car out to Burke and he went and checked it out. I contemplated calling my girlfriend again in hopes of her finally taking me serious this time but voted against it since I didn’t want to risk being laughed at again. At the same time Burke returned, and with a blank expression on his face he said to me, “Yo, there isn’t anyone in that car.”

YUP!!! I was definitely on drugs… “FUCK MY LIFE!!!”

A32145: The mother fuc-...

My girlfriend and her sister arrived at this point and I laughed uncontrollable on the inside as the lady who lived nearby asked her if we were siblings since she thought we looked alike (I’m still laughing my ass off at this now, ha ha ha). I could tell my gf was distressed about not believing me at first and I understood why, but there was a small part of me that wanted to stick my tongue out at her and say, “See? I told you so!” I suppressed that urge however but instead made a mental note to bring it up with her at a later date (that same night).

My mother, the police and the ambulance arrived at about the same time I think and the first thing she did was hold her stomach, cry, and double up over herself. “Oh great!” I thought while rolling my eyes, “Who invited her?” I then answered my own question and started kicking myself on the inside. The medics then came and asked me if I could move and then my toes tingled in order to signal to me that all systems were “GO!” again. I swung my legs around and pushed off on them to get myself upright again. I then took my first step towards C-walking away like nothing happened, but  my legs shouted, “SIKE!!!” and then moved from under me; sending me barreling towards the ground.

“Of all the low down, dirty, rotten tricks… Imma kill these mother fuckers!!!” I thought. Thankfully the medic nearest to me had fast hands so he grabbed me before hitting the ground. They eventually stuffed me into the ambulance (which clearly wasn’t meant for tall people since my feet were banging on the damn door) and after a round of 21 questions with the officer on the scene, I was taken to the hospital.

The seatbelt didn't help much...

I’m not even going to get into how bad the service was there. All you need to know is that it’s as bad as you’ve been hearing. What I now know is that if I got shot at 6:15 on a Sunday morning, I’m going to go to my friendly neighborhood crackhead first to take the bullet out before I head up there and have to deal with some b!t(hes and their “oh great; this mother fucker just HAD TO go get shot” looks since they are pissed off about the 7am shift to relieve them being late. My bad on the run-on sentence…

Five plus hours later, I was finally released and went home. Then my week of horrors with the Royal Police Force of Antigua & Barbuda’s traffic division and the dude who hit me started. You see, the dude who hit me eventually came back to the scene while I was at the hospital (some 30+ minutes later), and gave the report that I was driving on his side of the road and we collided in the middle of the road. I would have believed him too if I was a gullible school girl with a thing for Italian accents, except for the fact that all the debris from the accident were still there in the grass on my side of the road. It should have been an open and shut case with a report filed and everything within a matter of days, but I didn’t factor in that this is Antigua we’re talking about here and that 82% of the people here on the government’s payroll are lazy as PHUQ!

The reporting officer on the scene was to take an official statement from me since Tuesday and he also gave me his cell to call him. To this day (Friday) I am yet to get this guy on the phone or even give a statement. I went to the headquarters and had no luck there at all except the chick telling me that the officer has up to six months to file a report so I needed to just “hang tight”. *insert some choice words about her and her mother here*

The only thing I benefitted from the visit was to FINALLY find out the driver’s name was Massino Silette and the owner was Orville Knowles. I happened to cross check the plate numbers they had on file with the ones I had in the pictures and realized they had the wrong number for the guy who hit me. Like how the fudge do you mess that up? Added to that, I got a call from my insurance saying that the owner of the car just came in with an estimate for fixing his car and was making a claim since he was not accepting liability. I almost freaking LOST IT!!!

Really though, the last few weeks have just been one phuq-ed up thing happening to me after the next and I’m hoping this is the icing on the cake. It’s like if someone got pissed off at me about something and went to an obeah man… *thinks about it*… You chicks aren’t still griping about “the List”… right?

If things continue to get any worse I may just have to turn to a life of alcohol, going to the Coast when it’s not “Recession Thursdays”, “blowing bubbles in bitches”, or whatever else people on downward spirals do. Still though, as in every situation in life that can be b!t(hed about, there is always someone in one that’s much worse. On the same day; mere hours after that @$$ ramming, grape stomping, butt pirate from the Mediterranean Basin ran into me, my homegirl Ash lost her pops in a motorcycle accident . I don’t know the details of it but my condolences go out to her and her fam. I know people say that all the time and it’s probably the most empty and cliché thing you can say to someone who’s lost a loved one, but I REALLY do mean that. I can only imagine what it’s like to lose a father ‘cause I know I’d kill people if I lost mine.

Side note:
The blog should *crosses fingers and clips heels three times* be back to its regular schedule from next week… well unless the world ends on the 21st (tomorrow) like that crazy chick rolling with that silent white dude in town passing out the yellow pamphlets was saying it would…