Don't Take Your Foot Off the Gas

Amid the era of human society known as the Life as a Piñata years, I've been feeling relatively fortunate, especially compared to my fellow earthly residents. With a global pandemic-cum-economic crisis casting a cosmic spectre, one matched by the cloak of America's new cultural edification / utter moral degradation . . . well, I'm spending time quietly sitting at the end of the bench, ducking, covering, and playing some guitar.

Friday, I even played drums while Dave wailed away on the new natural wood Telecaster and bellowed out some lewd lyrics.  Life ain't too terrible.

Saturday, that nearly changed substantially, maybe even concluded.

After Team Dave had packed up and headed to the lands of OBX Dave, the ladyfriend and I began a beachward trek ourselves.  Just to Virginia Beach for an afternoon in the sun with friends. An old high school chum lives on 69th Street, so I'm not sure why I'd venture elsewhere.  As we started the 25-minute drive, we were poised to cross over Hampton Boulevard, one of the larger and faster moving avenues in my town. Just waiting for the light to turn green.

And then it did, as I recall.  (Scintillating story, I know.) From the driver's seat, my gaze was dead ahead as I slowly accelerated through the intersection of Redgate and Hampton, a block from Eastern Virginia Medical School, this boss building, and Norfolk General Hospital. If needed, the E/R was a few hundred yards away.

It's hard to draw upon memory and dissect the precise chronology of the events compacted into those next two seconds, but the following items stick out upon reflection:

• A loud car horn honking; maybe several
• A gasp and terrified warning/lament from my adorable passenger
• A quick left-turn of my head and my line of sight
• My dread-laden recognition of a Suburban/Yukon/Denali/American-built-living-room-on-wheels barreling down on me, void of any of the deceleration I would have bargained heavily for in that instant
• My thought process instantly assuming that I must be in the wrong, because (a) the juxtaposed vehicles across the street heading west to my east weren't progressing through the intersection as I was, and (b) I figure I'm an idiot
• Rising feelings of confusion and befuddlement
• A brace for impact

Well, I got lucky. It should be noted that while I braced for impact, I kept my foot on the gas pedal, maybe even depressing it further. I briefly saw the face of the woman behind the wheel of the would-be demolition derby winner realize her error. Error, which begat terror.

To her credit, she swerved right, quite hard. Her path altered from Whitney-crushing to gas-tank-walloping to rear-bumper-removing to near-miss status in a small fraction of a second. But had I slammed on the brakes instinctively, I'd be at best in traction, at worst an outdated entry in the masthead here.

The denouement was almost nonexistent.  I concluded that, despite my inherent mea culpa, the other driver had run a red light (fairly egregiously). The cars going the way opposite me weren't moving because they were in the left turn lane, waiting for me to clear out. They had a clear view of the near-ruination and were the honkers in question.

We continued down Redgate Ave, made a few more turns, and headed to the beach for a lovely day. Feeling more grateful than ever.

As you heard on "Hill Street Blues," let's be careful out there. In life, I tend not to take my foot off the gas. Not always the brightest idea, but sometimes, it can save your life.

And just to end on an even deeper note, I'll quote philosopher Ty LeWinchester, who once put it so perfectly:

The void 'twixt joy and sorrow, life and death, is more often sliver than chasm. Consider the most infinitesimal of differences -- not merely one letter, but one alphabetic turn -- that alters "heroes" into "herpes."