Now let’s review. I’ve been sitting in my [broken] car for more than a half hour, pressing on the break pedal like mad so my car didn’t roll over a small curb into a pretty sizable ditch. I’d been crying and was pretty stressed out. My hair was a mess, my makeup was streaked and I’m sure I had a mild look of panic on my face. But then Officer Hunka-Hunka showed up. Rawr!
I casually rolled down my window as this very cute (and possibly non-married) officer approached my car.
Me: (trying to be very casual) “Oh, hello! Something’s wrong with my car. It’s stuck in reverse and I’m a little worried I’m going to roll over that hill over there.”
The officer stepped back and surveyed the situation.
“If I’d known this, I’d have come sooner” he said. I’m pretty sure he meant that if he had known that my gorgeous, beautiful self was in distress he would have come sooner to assist me.
“I was dispatched to a motorist assist” he said, as if reading my mind and saying that there was no way in heyl that he’d have hurried over because of my good looks.
I was slightly annoyed by the dispatchers choice of, well, dispatching. When I was a dispatcher, a “motorist assist” meant helping a driver who was lost, or locked his keys in the car, or maybe had a flat tire. But for a poor distraught girl whose car was going to plunge to her death off roll off of a cliff!? Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a cliff…
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Ease up off the brake and roll your car to the curb.”
“Alright,” I said, “but it’s going to go pretty fast.” He just nodded his head and started using air-traffic-control-hands at me (keep moving, keep moving). I figured he was not only handsome but brave as well to have me start rolling the car towards him. He must have an ulterior motive: get my car out of control so he can grab me out at the last second, sending us both tumbling into the grass where he begins to feverishly kiss me and then…
Oh, wait… sorry. Back to my story.
I ease off the brake.
My car goes FLYING.
I slam on the brake. It barely works.
“I don’t think that is going to work. I barely lifted my foot off the pedal.”
The officer looked over the cliff of death and came over to my car.
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Ease up on your brake and roll toward the curb. I’ll stop you from going over.”
“You’re going to stop me? Okaaay.”
Eeeassssy, eaaaasssy. LURCH!
My car flies forward toward the very-cute-and-nice-officer. He dives into the hood of my car with arms extended trying to stop it from rolling.
I’m trying to be calm. He’s shouting “Easy! Easy!” My brakes are NOT cooperating.
I wonder how many years a girl gets for running over a cop.
I lean my head out the window and say “I’m going easy but I think I’m going to run you over!”
This went on for about a minute.
And that is when he jumped out of the way and my car went “cccccrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaakkk-ccccccccccccrrrrrrrrrrrunnnnnch” on the curb. Like the Titanic sinking, my car moaned and groaned for about 5 seconds and then, all was quiet.
“You can get out now,” Super Cop said.
I wish I had stayed in my car, cause when I got my fat butt out, my car rolled a little more.
“I’m really sorry I had to call you out here for this,” I said.
“You did the right thing,” he said. “If you’d never called, I never would have been able to meet such a beautiful woman. Want to go to dinner?”
Yeah, kidding. He just looked at me funny.
“You did the right thing,” he said. “You got a tow coming?”
“Yeah I have a tow coming. And my brother. Thanks for your help.” Oh please oh please oh please give me your phone number…
“Have a nice day.” And then he left.
I looked at the bottom of the front end of my car. It was all mushed from the curb.
And I looked down the cliff of death. I could have probably rolled right on over it and not hurt myself at all. Just probably my car. 45 minutes of agony for nothing.
Maybe if I’d called 911 and said “My car is going over a cliff!” the response time would have been faster… AND maybe at the end I could have sat in the back of an ambulance with trembling hands, drinking hot cocoa with the O
fficer’s jacket around my shoulders and him tucking my hair behind my ear…
Why is it when you look your worst, the cute guys come out of the woodwork? I bet if I hadn’t had a little nervous break down and was quite calm AND was having a good hair, makeup, face day, then they would have sent Barney Fife.
He would have asked me out.