Clearly I’m posting too late. But there’s a story behind it. Yes, I was staying up too late for a work night. It was about midnight and I was wrapping up some design work, when I heard a sickening “SCREEEE-crunch!”. It was faint and rather surreal, so I sat there a few moments processing what I’d just heard.
It definitely sounded like a car crash.
Yup, nothing else really made that sound.
Should I just ignore it and go to bed?
No–what if someone was hurt?
So I woke Kelly up and explained what had just happened (I had to explain seven or eight times before the sleep melted away). I wanted Kelly with since I had no medical training. We got dressed and took off in the car, looking for the accident. The sound was faint, so I assumed it was down by the Sugar Bowl, a section of road with a slick S-curve.
We didn’t make it to the Sugar Bowl–the accident was right around the corner. A car had barrelled through a phone junction box and into the concrete porch of a house. Everyone seemed to be OK… except for the smell of alcohol, the stumbling, the lack of coherence and the desperation to get away.
The elderly couple in the house were clearly shaken; they retreated back into the house while we watched the two college-aged boys until the cops came. I took the keys at the first opportunity (not that it did much, since their car was going nowhere); unable to find his keys the driver came up with a brilliant plan B.
He removed his license plate and beat a hasty retreat with his friend as I yelled after them that they were only making it worse (I had already memorized the license plate number and Kelly had passed it along to the 911 operator on her cell phone). About then the cops rolled around, easily snagging the very intoxicated driver, with license plate in hand.
Last we knew, the passenger (who was not obviously drunk) was on the run. Speaking from experience, I can say that running from the cops is extremely stupid, even when you’ve done nothing wrong and are stone sober (that’s a story for another day). We gave our statement to the cop and then took his advice to go home and warm up.
Between the out-of-gas gentleman I stopped to help on I-96 (who was heading the wrong way to visit his father, couldn’t remember his father’s number, and continued to insist he “just had to get movin’ again”) and this latest incident, I’ve had a rash of run-ins with drunk drivers. Both were lucky in my estimation; no lives were lost due to their stupid decisions. It may sound corny or cheesy, but please don’t drink and drive.
written by Kyle
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