Published: July 12, 2008 11:28 pm      

Seemingly unrelated events tie together

College 301 column

Irony is a crazy concept. Born seemingly out of unrelated, inconsequential events, it nevertheless organizes those events into a discernable pattern once a final resolution emerges. What was once a collection of random moments, situations bound by no defined relationship, becomes a linear timeline, a rippled definition of cause and effect that leads to one single result.

Ever since I began thinking about this week’s column, I had decided on a topic. The plan was to write a lighthearted, semi-serious tome about my mild case of road rage and the enormous amount of annoyance and irritation that besets me when drivers seem to be unaware of their purpose behind the wheel. When someone drives ten miles below the speed limit, blocking an entire line of cars without ever pulling to the shoulder to allow them to pass. When someone turns onto a highway from a stop sign directly in front of a car cruising at a comfortable 70 miles an hour with nowhere near enough time to accelerate before the other car is upon them. These things, these simple rules of the road, items that seem like common sense decisions, seem to be missing from the minds of many drivers. I had planned to jokingly call for a “lack of courtesy fine,” a monetary penalty to be assessed to drivers when they fail to allow faster cars to pass or neglect to give a thank you wave when someone does let them go by. That was the plan, and then I went to Austin.

I was visiting friends for the Independence Day weekend, going to a buddy’s apartment for a small get-together and cookout. The entire trip down, I was thinking of what I could say in the column, what wisecracks I could make about our country’s collective lack of driving skill and knowledge, envisioning irate e-mails that would result from enraged readers ready to convince me that not all drivers are bad. I stopped at a convenience store in Taylor to use the restroom and purchased a tube of Carmex for my chapped lips. When I checked out, the cashier handed me the lip balm and said, “Have fun.” I was excited because I knew that would provide a nice bit of comic relief after my gripes about driverless talent. I would explore the meanings behind the cashier’s comment, contemplating whether or not he thought I would be shooting the Carmex from the tube at passing motorists like silly string, hence his telling me to have fun. These thoughts, they ran through my mind during the weekend, but then I headed home.

Fairly certain I had the rough structure and outline of the column planned out, I made my return trip home last Sunday with a mind that was less busy. I didn’t need to think about the column anymore because I knew what I would write. As I traveled along Highway 79, I approached very few cars traveling the same direction as me, and those I did come upon kindly moved out of the way when it was clear that I did not share their desire to drive 50 in a 70. I wondered if maybe I’d been too harsh, if maybe there wasn’t always an absence of awareness and caution from America’s motorists, but then I got to Buffalo.

The speed limit had been reduced from 70 due to the presence of the town and the safety hazard such a high mark presented. I approached the traffic light situated before the highway passes underneath the overpass of Interstate 45, riding in the right lane. The left lane was filled with a line of cars, but my lane was virtually empty. The light had just changed, so the left lane was preparing to move, but since my lane was empty, I came upon the light still going the same speed, without a need to stop, since no cars were in front of me. Just as I was about to pass under the light, a silver bullet streaked out in front of me from between a gap in two cars from the left lane. A silver Honda. I learned that in a situation such as this, things do seem to slow down, and as my right foot streaked to the brake pedal, depressing it with every ounce of strength I could muster, I wished for a miss, willed my red Pontiac to resist the urge to meld with the silver in front of it. And then I hit the car. The nose of my Grand Prix plowed into the Honda, collapsing much of the passenger’s side door, and my column gained an example. The driver of the Honda had jetted across the highway without even being able to see my lane because of the line cars on the left side, simply hoping that the right side was clear to allow them to pass. It of course was not, and I was involved in my first crash while piloting an automobile.

While not my fault, I inherited the burden of manning the situation, getting out of my car to check on the occupants of the Honda, taking the cell phone from the driver of the car to tell the authorities the location of the crash, since the other driver gave me a blank stare when I told her where we were. But the scary thing is this: in the back seat, on the passenger’s side, was a child. The side I hit, the side that was exposed when the car pulled out in front of me, was the same side a young girl of about two was sleeping on. Fortunately, the crash only frightened her and did not cause her harm.

Now, I’m in the process of ensuring that my car receives the proper repairs and that said repairs are covered by the opposite driver’s insurance company. And once again, I’m worried about the state of our country’s drivers. To be so careless, to cross an intersection blind, without even being able to see the contents of one lane, especially when the car contains a child, is frighteningly reckless. By not waiting until she could make sure the road was clear, she caused an accident in which I wasn’t at fault and nearly forced me to unwillingly hurt a youngster. Think. Think about what could happen when your eyes are on your cell phone rather than the road. Think about what could happen when you don’t make sure the coast is clear before crossing an intersection. Think about the danger you are putting yourself, your passengers, and other motorists in when you allow distractions to take priority over the main purpose of driving.

As if to put a tangible glob of icing on top of this crash-filled cake, when I hit the Honda, when I met that metal obstruction blocking my route home, the CD I was listening to ejected itself.

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Robert Rich is a sophomore journalism major at the University of Texas at Austin. He graduated from Westwood High School in 2006. He can be reached via e-mail at robert.rich@mail.utexas.edu