I Am Tired Of Road Objects Smashing My WindshieldA True Story With Pictures (soon to be a Made-For-Lifetime movie, Acts Of God, starring Markie Post and Harry Hamlin) If you have ever wondered exactly who is responsible for objects coming from the road, that would be me. Apparently. In the sense that objects coming from the road keep hitting my tiny little Honda Civic, and the repairs come right out of my pocket.
Being a veteran motorist and commuter, I am pretty much inured to dodging assorted highway detritus, the flotsam and jetsam of Atlanta's freeways. Tires, mattresses, boards with nails, ladders (lots of ladders) are all standard fare for the Metro area, and I'm sure anybody who has lived in this fair city for more than a month has some story about an entire Aaron Rents dining room suite in the HOV lane. Additionally I do everything within my power to avoid being stuck behind a dumptruck hemorrhaging gravel or a truck trailer handcrafted from pallet boards and loaded with lawn care equipment, but dear reader these precautions have proven insufficient to placate the powerful gods whose malevolent machinations (or old-fashioned practical jokes) are the driving force behind the mysteries of the universe. Know this:
On Tuesday, July 17, 2001 I was minding my own business, driving home on I-85 South (the so-called "Downtown Connector") when something came spinning up from the road and smashed into my windshield, driver's side, eye level.
WHAM!
Instinctively my eyes closed, but I opened them again when I realized that driving down the Interstate with my eyes closed might just make things worse. After a quick panicked check I determined that I myself have not been damaged by this incident--thanks in part to my cool new Kenneth Cole sunglasses--but there was a golf-ball sized hole in the safety glass of my windshield (eye level) and every surface in my little red Civic, including myself, was covered in powdered glass.
At this point I was still doing 60 on the Interstate, but my heart was going much faster. I could not for the life of me figure out what hit me (ball-peen hammer?) until something hanging down from behind the visor caught my eye. Initially I thought my rear-view mirror had been knocked sideways, but no, it was an 11-inch iron rod protruding through my windshield. This was the projectile I saw spinning towards me a split second before impact--something straight out of a movie. 3-D.
Earlier that same day, on that same Interstate highway, something round and metallic bounced down my lane and slammed against the undercarriage of my car four or five times before going on to hit the car behind me. No permanent damage.
But today I was not so lucky. Friday, August 3, 2001, barely two weeks later, whilst driving on this VERY SAME road, a golfball-sized rock targeted by the unerring hand of Fate bounced down the road and ricocheted off my (brand new) windshield. Leaving a brand new divot and a brand new spiderweb of cracks on the driver's side, eye-level.
This time I was less shell-shocked and more instantly furious. What had I done to deserve this? Who do I complain to? Is there something to this whole "Automobile Insurance" thing? I figured it was just another scam, like Lotto or graduate school. Why do objects from the road keep smashing into my windshield?
If, for whatever twisted reason, there IS some controlling intelligence behind these terrorist attacks, and if that intelligence is reading this article, PLEASE attach your demands to the next missile. Or at least an explanation. Because I don't know which will kill me first, the suspense or the next tire iron aimed at my forehead.
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