Drama

When I drive, I like to listen to music that other people enjoy, like trendy songs or famous songs. Not exactly because I like them, but because if I get in a car accident and die, I want the first responders to say, “Wow, great song. At least she was cool.”

I don’t want to crash and die while my Spotify is blasting my Broadway Musical playlist. God forbid I die listening to “Hello” from The Book of Mormon. Great song btw.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I broke my own rule while driving to my spinning class. I decided to listen to one of my favorite songs of all time: “Drama” by Spencer Sutherland.

I’m going to pause here. I need you to stop reading and look up that song on Spotify. If you come back and keep reading, thank you. If you decide to unfriend me, I understand.

Go listen. I’ll wait.

https://open.spotify.com/track/4Od0LfqUUPfe4yqeYZhuct?si=283f28c253d84345

Did you know that when you get into a wreck, the music stops completely?

Apparently, cars have this feature where, when your airbags deploy, their emergency team immediately calls you. Not your iPhone. Through your car. Your car calls you.

They contact 911 for you, stay on the line until first responders arrive, and perhaps most importantly, they stop your music for you.  All this time, I was worried for nothing.

At this point, you’ve probably inferred two things:

1.     I was in a car accident.

2.     I’m fine because I’m obviously here writing this.

Ok, I almost died, but I didn’t. So why is this story special?

People have these unbelievable survival stories. They almost get hit by a train, mauled by a bear in the woods, trapped in a house fire, survive a shooting, a plane crash.

If you are reading this and have survived something that dramatic, you probably won’t find the rest of my story impactful, but I’m going to try. Like my friend Justine said, and I quote, “I know it’s a piss-off, but this tale has some legs.”

So, here’s my story: I almost got killed by a homeless dude and a hooker.

Are you done laughing? Cool, lets proceed.

Before we get into the nitty gritty, allow me to share some details that I find important.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning. Flowers were flowering and the sun was sunning. At 6:45 a.m., I got a text from David saying his bike race was about to start and he was putting his phone on airplane mode to save battery. That detail will matter later.

Strike One:

It was the perfect morning to go for a long run, but I chose to do a spinning class instead. I grabbed my spinning shoes, my Rav4 keys, and headed out for the 9:00 a.m. class. I really don’t want to make this unnecessarily long and tedious, but the devil is in the details.

Strike Two:

And because flowers were flowering, apparently, I decided it was also a good day to break my rule and listen to music I actually enjoy. “Siri, play ‘Drama’, by Spencer Sutherland.”

Strike Three:

Then I broke another rule. I took a different route just because I wanted to drive past those old, rich, beautiful homes in the historic district.

I was about a quarter mile from my house when I started wondering how David was doing in his race. Those mountain cycling races are insane. He had trained so hard for it. Three hundred and fifty miles on gravel roads? Absolutely not.

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise and a massive impact against the side of my car. I heard like metal pieces colliding into a giant steel dumpster. I tried to understand what had hit me, but before my brain could catch up, my car started spinning. A full 360.

Then I saw a pedestrian jumping backward out of the way. “OH MY GOD. I’m going to kill this guy.”

My body whipped violently from side to side. When I finally managed to look up, I saw my car heading straight toward a concrete wall belonging to one of those million-dollar houses on the corner. I hit the wall.

The airbags deployed and I looked at my watch: 8:37am. “Nope, I’m not going to make it to spinning class. I did spin, though…”

My thoughts were interrupted, again, by a woman’s voice that was coming out of nowhere. “God, is that you? I knew God was a woman!” The voice wasn’t God, it was my Rav4.

Remember the pedestrian I almost killed? His name is Paul.

Paul the Pedestrian ran toward me and helped me out of the car while the Toyota Emergency Lady remained on the line until the police arrived. In the meantime, he told me what he saw.

Paul

Paul lives in that million-dollar-house neighborhood. He loves doing his Saturday morning walks before checking his stock portfolio and counting his money. Or at least that’s the life I imagine for people who live around there.

He was crossing the intersection of 42nd Ave and Brazee St. when he noticed a car speeding down Brazee St and blowing through the stop sign at around 40 miles per hour. Seconds later, he heard a loud noise, like metal pieces colliding into a giant steel dumpster. He looked up and saw a Rav4 doing a 360 spin (me). I don’t know what Paul was thinking in that moment, but whatever it was, his reflexes were top notch.

My Rav4 was clearly on feral mode and was about to crash into a concrete wall, exactly where Paul the pedestrian was standing. “Holy shit!” Paul screamed as he jumped out of the way. One second later, the Rav4 hit the concrete wall.

What if I had killed Paul? He was just going for a morning walk and now we must tell his wife that her husband isn’t coming home.  

A bunch of strangers came running toward us, phones already in hand. I was trying to make sense of everything, but I kept being interrupted by Paul, the strangers, and the woman’s voice in my car.

Then I noticed an old Cadillac sitting in the middle of the intersection. Its hood was folded upward. The bumper was missing. By the look of it, this crash was not that Cadillac’s first rodeo.

The Cadillac was not the same vehicle that Paul saw speeding seconds before the crash, but it looked like they were chasing each other or something. The Cadillac had apparently tried to flee the scene but instead ended up crashing into another vehicle in the same intersection; another Rav4 actually. Not a good morning for Rav4s.

(Technical explanation: I was driving south on 42^nd Ave and the two cars speeding were driving west on Brazee St. Important: Brazee St. has a stop sign, 42^nd Ave does not.)  

The concrete wall belonged to a private residence. A gorgeous house on the corner of 42nd and Brazee St. A woman rushed out of the house toward me asking if I was okay and whether I was afraid of the police.

Afraid of the police? Why would I be afraid of the police? I didn’t cause the crash.

…

Ohhhhh.

Okay.

I know I look super Mexican, but Mexican does not automatically equal undocumented. I mean, to be fair, I wasn’t wearing makeup that morning, and sadly, I was not wearing my only pair of Lululemon leggings. Still, I appreciated the sentiment. Women helping women. But at that particular moment, I wanted the police to arrive immediately.

Then things got weirder.

A very thin black woman wearing tiny neon green booty shorts, green sandals, and a neon lime fishnet sleeveless top appeared from about a block away and started slowly walking toward the Cadillac. Her hair was long and red, but you could see the dark roots screaming for a hair appointment.

She was stumbling slightly as she made her way toward the car. She finally reached the Cadillac driver, and after a short, weird moment of silence between them, they started screaming at each other. I shit you not.

The Cadillac’s driver was a black man, maybe in his sixties. He was wearing a black hoodie, blue baggy sweatpants, a blue hat, and Nike Air Jordans. I didn’t understand a single word they were screaming at each other. And to make matters worse, another woman suddenly opened the passenger door of the crashed Cadillac and joined the screaming match.

Thank God the police arrived.

I had so many questions. Who were those people? What were they doing speeding through 42nd and Brazee at 8:30 in the morning? Where did the neon lime woman come from? Did they realize they almost killed people?

And my biggest question: How did I walk away from that crash without a single scratch or bruise?

People die in less dramatic situations. If I had died there, David wouldn’t even have gotten the calls. His phone was on airplane mode. Would they have called my mom?

Shit, I need to tell David.

OMG, I almost killed Paul.

My neck hurts.

After waiting for about fifteen mins, we had the police verdict.

(Add Law Enforcement voice)

“Preliminary investigation indicates the incident may have originated from an ongoing domestic dispute that escalated into a vehicle pursuit/speeding event.

The adult female who later arrived on scene was identified as the driver of the first vehicle reportedly observed traveling at a high rate of speed earlier in the incident.

Records check revealed the driver of the 1979 Cadillac was not insured at the time of contact. Additionally, the driver is reported to reside in transitional/supportive housing.

Statements obtained indicate the involved parties had been engaged in a dispute beginning the previous evening and had reportedly not slept prior to the incident. The reason for the female subject’s arrival on scene in an agitated state remains under investigation. A witness stated the female subject was believed to be engaged in commercial sex activity. This information has not been independently verified.”

Translation: I almost got killed by a homeless man and a hooker. Allegedly.

I called my neighbor and asked if she could pick me up. Nadia arrived in less than ten minutes. She came running toward me and gave me a hug and I immediately felt a hundred pounds lighter. She was the first familiar face I had seen all morning. Everyone around me had been police, strangers, or hookers.

She told me she was going to take me to the ER whether I liked it or not. And just like that, I started crying.

Honestly, I don’t know what to make of any of this. These people and their spectacularly poor judgment almost changed the lives of many families.

I was scared because my car looked destroyed, surprised that I had walked away from that crash, angry at those people who seemed to have no idea what they could have done, and sad that David wasn’t there with me. But also, deeply thankful to God, because I knew it was God and a bunch of angels, or whatever energy you personally subscribe to, that somehow steered that wheel for me.

Last but not least, the other thing that upsets me is that I'm now deeply invested in this story, and I will probably never know the tea. What the hell happened between Friday night and Saturday morning that led to a car chase through a residential neighborhood at 8:30 a.m.? Why was the woman driving away from the homeless guy, only to come back and start screaming at him afterward?

The more I look at their pictures, the more I really want to know the story. I bet it's so good that if they had killed me, people would still be talking about it years later.

Anyway, we'll probably never know what really happened. But here I am, still alive, and with another story to add to my ever-growing collection of unexpected shitty situations that Adriana somehow always finds herself in.

And honestly, I'm not complaining.

Because when my time eventually comes, someone can quote the last line of my favorite song, "Drama" by Spencer Sutherland:

“So when the curtain closes, and it’s time for me to go, at least I can say that I gave them a show.”