At approx 7pm Sunday night, I was just sitting on the couch, minding my own,
drooling over watching The Bride of the Water God….
…when I heard a series of otherworldly, apocalyptic BOOMS.
My first inclination was to think that a plane crashed in my front yard and was now milliseconds away from sliding into my house. Chooch thought our neighbor who is always working on his car dropped something because yes, the last time I checked, a wrench hitting the ground of a garage sounds exactly like 7349823 tons of metal being crushed and accordioned in our front yard.
But no – just some broad who totaled not one but FIVE cars parked along our street before coming to a stop right next to “Ned’s” abandoned car.
Henry, with his constant need to insert himself into everyone’s 911 narrative, practically swan dove out the front door mid-dinner prep, Ziploc bag of chicken still in hand, and was FIRST ON SCENE THANK THE FUCKING LORD. You know what you have, you fucking Cub Scout? A goddamn hero complex. Don’t deny it, Hank.
(Actually, Chooch and I didn’t know that Henry was out there, chicken-in-hand, until 30 minutes later when he finally left things in the hands of the TRAINED PROFESSIONALS, and he was heroically marching to the house, bag of marinated chicken swinging joyfully at his side.
“OMG YOU HAD THAT IN YOUR HAND THAT WHOLE TIME YOU ARE SO EMBARRASING!” I screamed, while Chooch was on the phone with his friend from down the street saying “YEAH SHE HIT LIKE FIVE CARS DIDNT YOU HEAR IT?!” There was a lot going on.)
HNC’s wife was second on scene, tied with some other lady down the street who was all concerned about the well-being of whoever was behind the wheel because she didn’t know yet that her BRAND NEW BMW was one of the victims of the side-swiping. Anyway, HNC’s wife called 911 while Henry and the Italian guy in the next house over talked to the broad-perp, convincing her to stay in the car. Henry, who knows everything, wrote in his (I Wish I Was The) police report that her side airbags went off but not the drivers one. Fascinating.
Eventually, a healthy crowd had congregated. The Italian guy’s daughter at some point realized that her car was also victimized and she was out there crying (apparently it was her birthday too which I deduced from the 6 times her dad sarcastically said “Happy Birthday” to her) then Chooch’s nemesis Larry came out with his dog and he was HAMMERED (Larry, maybe the dog too) and Chooch’s other nemesis The Witch emerged at some point because we live on a street of fucking vigilantes.
I guess the lady is ok, or as ok as one can be after annihilating a block of cars. She didn’t leave with the ambulance.
Now they’re looking for “Ned” and I’m like “oh hello his house was raided last month and he moved out and left his car. Don’t think he’ll mind that one whole entire side has even ripped off, probably the least of his concerns right now.” It’s kind of ironic though because every day since we’ve been home from My Kingdom a/k/a Korea, I’ve been mindlessly asking no one in particular, “What’s going to happen to ‘Ned’s’ car?”
The tow truck guy came over and was talking to me and Henry almost booted me backward into the basement so he could do the talking but the tow truck driver wasn’t interested in talking to Henry because he doesn’t have boobs.
“Why didn’t you tell the cops about ‘Ned’ when they were knocking on his door?” Henry asked.
“Because they didn’t ask me and I hate cops and won’t initiate conversation with them,” I said haughtily because how does he not know this? I’ll talk to the cute tow truck driver though. HE ASKED ME IF I WAS OK what a Prince!!!
Look at her car! The one front wheel is UNDERNEATH IT. She is so lucky that she is ok and that the only damage that incurred was to a bunch of parked cars and no human beings or worse — ANIMALS. Our sidewalk is heavy with pedestrian traffic and dog walkers so thank god no one was out there at that exact moment.
[Chooch’s review: It was spooky.]
When I first moved to the street in 1999 (ugh, I’m a townie at this point), the people living next door at the time gave me the sagest advice ever: DO NOT PARK ON THE STREET. The amount of accidents we’ve seen is super disturbing (like the hit & literal run from a few summers ago when Henry got to put on his cape once again). The first rule of living on Pioneer Ave is don’t park on Pioneer Ave, guys.
UPDATE: It’s been two hours since the commotion and everyone has long since cleared out, but now there is an ambulance that just arrived and I’m like, “Are they late!?” but they’re here for something else because why not.