The Treacherous Road to School

Unsuccessfully navigating a suburban obstacle course

It was one of those mornings. Lately, it’s always one of those mornings. The kind when you open your eyes and stare in disbelief at the time on your phone. The kind when you blame your egregious oversleep on a weird time change glitch.

The kind where you throw on a sweatshirt over your cheese-stained pajamas and hop around banging pots and pans to wake your children who have no intention of exiting their beds.

After 15 minutes of coaxing them out of bed with bribes, you chase them around with their clothes in hand and feed them something with high-fructose corn syrup from the frozen breakfast department.

Once everyone exhausted every excuse to skip school, it was off to the races on the mean suburban streets — along with every parent and commuter.

Like all mornings, I jumped into my massive mom-mobile and started zipping through my neighborhood like Verstappen on the last lap of the Monaco Grand Prix. Heavy acceleration and some nimble handling as I dodged obstacles left and right. Unfortunately, my 6,200 pound beast doesn’t exactly corner like a Formula one car.

Still, I was doing pretty well until some sack-wad decided to pull out right in front of me in an equally massive vehicle. Being the aggressive driver I am, I decided to swerve around him. Easy breezy.

I neglected the fact that every single house in my neighborhood is currently undergoing a large-scale construction project — leaving the streets littered with contractors’ trucks, designers, architects, moving vans, and furniture delivery vehicles. This did not leave much room to gracefully maneuver my behemoth around the sack-wad as planned.

I gripped my oversized steering wheel and zoomed past him, playing real-life frogger. Eat my dust!! Then….BAM. A loud thud shook my vehicle. Oh dear. Not so nimble after all. I pulled over to see what on earth had just jumped out at me.

Someone else’s monstrosity of a car was parked in my path and sacrificed its sideview mirror to this suburban street warrior. Shit. I froze, then looked back at my kids who were staring at me wide-eyed.

“Mom, what did you just do?!”

“I know guys, I know. It’s okay. We’re okay.” I said, trying to convince myself.

I finally got out of the car, and immediately wished I had worn normal-people clothing. I assessed the damage to my car. My trusty beast was in good condition — just some scratched paint on the mirror that folded in upon impact like a boss.

Next I cautiously approached the other car. The mirror was ripped clean off like a severed arm. Mirror glass adorned the street in a sparkly veil.

Unsure what to do next, I ran around like a flailing squirrel picking up the large pieces of mirror. I hadn’t a clue who the car belonged to as it was parked on the street — very much in my way. I ran back to my car and listened to my kids hurl more insults about my driving.

I scratched my head and thought about my options. Knock on doors and face the crime head-on? I knew better than to drive away, but didn’t have the time to play Whose Car Did I Just Fuck — suburban edition.

I ransacked my car in search of a piece of paper to leave a note because I am not a monster and to assuage my kids’ fears that I would serve time for the incident. I assured them that by leaving a note, no jail time would be served.

“But what about all of your speeding tickets Mom?” They bellowed.

“Shhhhhhh…’tis not the time to dwell on the past, my sweet angels.”

Turns out I don’t keep notepads in my car because it is not the 1800s. “Kids — paper, now!” My 10-year-old obliged and gave me a drawing of our dog from his backpack along with a dull pencil. I felt bad using one of his sketches, but he assured me it was fine because he didn’t draw it anyway. It was suspiciously good.

I scribbled what appeared to be a ransom note and left it on the windshield. It was an apology, a promise to pay, and my phone number. I should have left a friend’s. I put the amputated mirror on the sidewalk next to the ravaged car, dusted my hands of glass shards, and went on my way.

Some neighborhood vigilante was on the scene taking photos of my license, so I was certain I’d appear on America’s Most Wanted or my neighborhood’s Karen-run Facebook page. It wouldn’t be a first.

I cracked some jokes with the kids to lighten the mood and consoled myself by saying at least I hit a regular SUV…and not some outrageously expensive butler-turned-car thing. How expensive can a side mirror be? Turns out, they can be very expensive.

The man whose car jumped out at me texted later in the day and was shockingly kind. He expressed gratitude for the fact that I left a note and told me he wanted to make this as painless as possible. I assumed he meant I was off the hook. Your car came out of nowhere, sir.

I ended up paying him a handsome sum to cover the cost, but didn’t get insurance involved because my premiums would go up and I’d have some sort of “reckless driver” ding on file. I assumed I’d already earned that esteemed classification.

So in case you’re wondering, if you demolish a parked car’s sideview mirror, but the owner isn’t around to witness it, does it make a sound? Yes. A very loud one.