I have had a hard time writing lately, they say pregnancy brain does not exist, but I believe that their science is flawed. With that being said, I have decided to do another writing challenge. This one will be a little different than the last, with prompts that are a little less serious. Today’s prompt:
“Take the reader on a trip with the worst driver you have ever known.”
This is a toss-up, I could definitely be considered the worst driver I have ever known. I once hit a mailbox while backing out of a driveway. Two things about this make me a terrible driver 1. I hit the mailbox with the passenger side of my car, 2. The mailbox was on the driver’s side. I have dented and dinged my cars in almost every way imaginable, and I am still a little freaked out about driving on interstates. However, my best friend is the only person I have ever known to confuse an officer with her car wreck so badly that he left forgetting to give her a ticket.
My best friend dropped out of high school when we were in 10th grade. In North Carolina, if you drop out of school, you forfeit your right to get a driver’s license until you are 18. So, picture this: it is 2003, and my best friend has just turned 18, she takes and fails her driving test, and instead leaves with a driving permit. This driving permit enables her to drive with a licensed driver over the age of 18 who has a driver’s license. Since she was my roommate I was stuck with the duty of teaching her to drive. She was terrible, Rachele scared the absolute crap out of anyone who risked their life getting into her car. She ran red lights, braked too quickly, and took curves way too fast. My friends and I would ask her to be our designated driver, while joking that we would be safer if one of us just drove home drunk. As her best friend, I put my life on the line for her often, but the last straw came at about 5:00 one morning. She woke me up from a dead sleep so that I could ride with her to work, then turn around and drive home. The windows in the car are fogged up, but instead of waiting, she chooses to leave, driving with a clear spot the size of a small dinner plate. We pull out of our driveway and begin cruising up the road that we lived on. At the end of the road, she slowly, and carefully came to a complete stop. She turned right, and instantaneously hit not one, not two, but three parked cars. Now I know you are probably thinking that these cars must have been parked on the road, but you are wrong, they were parked in their driveway, she actually had to drive through the yard to hit them.
We are in the car, and I cannot open my door, she decides that this is a good time to have a nervous breakdown. She begins crying, and I begin panicking, scared that the car may catch fire and I will die in a fiery crash. I begin yelling for her to “get out of the car!” so that I can climb through. I calm her down, and we walk to the door to tell these people that she has hit their three parked cars. We knock on the door, and a frazzled lady answers, Rachele immediately loses her crap once again, and I am left explaining that we have hit their 3 parked cars. The woman slammed the door in my face, and I was confused, she came back a minute later with the phone, she had called the police. When the officer arrived, he asked where we were coming from, I told him that we had come from the stop sign and he basically called me a liar, I pulled out my license and showed him my address. He began shaking his head in confusion and saying “I just… what? How?” “I just don’t understand.” I explained that I had been in the car with her, and I didn’t even know how it happened. He told her to give the homeowner’s her insurance information and said that he would call her later if he decided to ticket her… he never called. This was the last time I rode in a car with her for a couple of months, from that moment on, her stepdad was in charge of teaching her to drive.