Elodie Gets Into a Fender Bender with a Cop

One of our favorite Sparklers just became a SparkLife freelancer, which means she'll be writing even MORE hilarious posts than ever. JACKPOT.—Sparkitors

My mom gave me her car when I was seventeen, and I was thrilled. It was a beautiful testament to Volvos everywhere. It was sleek. It was fast. People in the school parking lot would frequently whistle and say, “Nice car.” In fact, if boys liked me as much as they liked my car, I probably wouldn’t be NBK right now. (Side note: my car isn’t even NBK. But that’s another story.) Anyway, I named the car Cosmo and went on to form a magical union with him. We bonded. He was the light of my life. Two days ago, however, the impenetrable force of steel and horsepower that is Cosmo finally met his maker… when I got into a fender bender with a police officer.

I was just driving along with my brother, Alex. Alex has adopted that holier-than-thou attitude unique to student drivers, with their pamphlets and morbid statistics and inane tidbits. So he was saying things like “Stop signs aren’t optional, you know,” and “You didn’t pull into the first legal lane, do you want to get us killed?”

Our mom was in the hospital, and we wanted to visit her. The thought was nice, but it must be said that neither of us knew our surroundings as well as you might expect, considering we've lived in this town for most of our lives—I interrupted a diatribe on turn signal usage to voice this concern as casually as I could: “Where, uh, where’s the hospital, anyway?”

Alex stared at me, appalled. “We’ve been driving for fifteen minutes! I thought you knew!” Apparently able to immediately overlook this lapse in judgment, he added, “Your lane changes make me feel as if I’ve cheated death, by the way.”

“I’m going to strangle you,” I said, with the calmness for which quality drivers are so famous.

He shook his head. “Not if you want to keep both hands on the wheel, you’re not. And you’re not at nine and three.”

“What? I thought it was ten and two.”

“Well you’re at like six and seventy-five, I don’t even know what you’re doing over there.”

We were stopped at the most congested intersection in traffic history. In fact, we were there so long we stopped bickering about driving and started bickering about Chips Ahoy! cookies. Finally, the light turned green. The car in front of me inched forward and then, for whatever reason, stopped. I stopped. The car behind me, however, did not stop. I was literally in the middle of talking about which brand of cookies was better, so it went like this: “I’m not saying you’re wrong, and I’m not saying I’m right, but when it comes down to it, Famous Amos is the best there is and you’ll just have to AHHHHHHHHH.”

Cue the fantastically girly shriek. Alex and I both reacted like we were under attack. I said frantically, “Did that really just happen?” and he confirmed, “Yeah, I think that just happened,” and I said, “I can’t believe that just happened,” and we continued volleying variations of this phrase back and forth for a minute before I got my head in the game. I maneuvered over to some side street, parked at a crazy angle, and jumped out to inspect the damage.

“It’s not… that bad,” Alex said tentatively; he knew Cosmo was my baby. And, well, it was bad and it wasn’t. There were definite scratch marks, like Cosmo had been mauled by a bear, and the whole rear end was a little scrunched up so the trunk wouldn’t close. But considering how hard the guy hit us, I was just surprised it wasn’t worse.

He pulled in behind us. He asked if we were okay and called the cops. We exchanged pleasantries, and somewhere in there he mentioned that he was an off-duty police officer and that this wouldn’t look so good on his record. I wasn’t sure what to say to that. In truth, though, he was a nice guy—but then again, I think everyone’s a nice guy if they don’t stun me with a punch to the face and stuff me in the trunk of my own car before driving off and fading from the public eye. (I watch too many crime dramas.)

What they never told us in Driver’s Ed is how awkward the wait is. He hovered by his car and we hovered by ours. People drove past with their faces pressed against their windows. The minutes dragged by. Alex found a stick and started to whittle. It occurred to me that I should call my dad.

“Hey, Dad,” I said when he picked up.

“Where are you?”

“That’s, um, that’s the thing.” I laughed nervously, trying to make this sound like one of those isn’t-life-funny stories. “I kind of… got into a fender bender.”

“Was it your fault?” he asked immediately.

“No!” I tried to act like I found this offensive. “It’s not so bad. Just some scratches. Um, the trunk won’t close, but… yeah. We’re just waiting for the cops. Alex is whittling. People are looking at us—like that guy… move along, dude, seriously!”

“I’ll be right there,” he said, cutting in. “Where are you?”

My less-than-stellar navigational skills notwithstanding, I managed to convey where we were and hung up. Alex and I defaulted into “haha” mode and started cracking jokes, because that is what we do as a family unit. I almost opened up the Catch Phrase app, but the guy was right there and I wasn’t sure if asking him to play would open up a whole new can of awkward.

My dad arrived, and the cop arrived, and he did some stuff in his cruiser and then gave the guy a ticket. And we were free to go. There was nothing of any value in the trunk, so I just resolved to drive carefully. Here’s the kicker: I followed my dad out, and as we were turning into traffic, I almost slammed into the back of his car. The cop and the other guy were less than twenty feet away. Can you IMAGINE the shame if that had actually happened? The embarrassment? The ridicule? Alex certainly could. He proceeded to laugh for the next four hours, pausing only to wheeze hysterically, “You almost rear-ended DAD! After you got into a fender bender! With a COP! Who was RIGHT THERE! That could only happen to you!”

Since Cosmo is out of commission, I’ve started driving my mom’s car, which is a total lemon. I don’t like it, and it doesn’t like me. We have a mutual hatred. The Lemon breaks down unexpectedly, moves the seat back, and changes the radio station without my consent. It makes impatient noises in traffic and only accelerates when it feels like it. We’re trying make things work—really, we are. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s the bane of my existence.

I miss Cosmo.

PS. On a side note, I read every single comment on my last post… and I’m now filled with a burning jealousy because all your Pottermore usernames are better than mine. Who else got their acceptance e-mail for Pottermore? Did anyone else scream? No? Just me?

Has anyone else gotten into a fender bender with a cop? We're predicting that the answer is NO.

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