If I were to conduct a survey to find out the most exciting words in the English language, I would more than likely conclude that they are “I love you.” Coming in a close second would be “I told you so.” I’m no psychologist or sociologist, so I don’t pretend to know what it is about the opportunity to utter these four small words that can make some people go insane. You know how it is. After an argument, you find out that you are right. What do you do first? You rub the other person’s nose in that fact for the good part of three days. Not only that, but like a bag of Lay’s Potato Chips, you can’t just say it once. Oh, no. You have to say it repeatedly in a singsong fashion. “I told you so…I told you so…I told you so.” Not long ago, a year almost, I got the chance to say these words to my dad.
Like most fathers, mine holds a B.S. in Backseat Driving. He does not mind informing me of the proper speed limit, or informing me of the fact that the car ahead of me is hitting the brakes, or informing me that if I keep it up we’ll all die. It’s not like I’m such a bad driver. Further, it’s not like he’s such a far superior driver than I am. In fact, every time I ride with him, I wind up clawing the seat and getting in fetal position. Inevitably at some point during my driving, he will hand out tips as if he works for Triple A. Occasionally, his remarks end with my quieting him with a blow to the stomach. Usually, however, I simply reply, “Backseat Driver.” He returns my sentiment with “I’m not sitting in the backseat. I’m sitting in the front.” At this point, I scream and threaten to turn his side of the car into oncoming traffic.
One day, while we were stopped at a red light, he enlightened me that I was too far from the car in front of me. “You could fit a whole car in between ours and theirs.” I surveyed the situation. Okay, a car could fit there, but it would have to be a clown car like you see at the circus. Maybe a Hot Wheels tricycle could also fit in the gap. I calmly explained that when I was in Drivers’ Ed, I was taught that I ought to be able to see the tires of the car in front of me touching the asphalt. Any closer than this is not acceptable protocol. I further explained that should some loser decide to hit us, we would not hit the person in front of us, thereby saving us numerous calls to an insurance company. My mother sided with me. My father, at this point, abandoned any hope of winning the argument and quieted down.
About a month later, my mother and I were out doing some serious grocery shopping. We had been to two stores, and we had one more until we could head home. On Narrow Lane Road, I saw that the traffic was backed up because of an accident in front of the country club. The police were on the scene directing traffic. I pulled to a stop safely behind a car and waited for the traffic to move. A few seconds after I stopped, my mother and I heard the crumpling sound of metal. As we were thrown forward in our seats, I put my other foot on the brake as a precaution, threw my arm out in front of my mother, and verbalized a less than civilized four-letter-word. We lunged forward again.
I stepped out of the car to survey the damage. My mother hiked down the road to request the police officers’ presence at our wreck. Meanwhile, I mourned the loss of our family car, the beautiful and wonderful 1987 Toyota Camry. For those of you non-Camry owners, you will not understand the feeling of loss that affected me. As I stood there in the street, witnessing that my trunk was now relocated to the back seat, I wanted to cry. The other driver was shaking. I would have liked to shake him myself, but I restrained my anger. He looked up at me like he wants to cry. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” he explained.
“Obviously not, sir, “ I replied.
He also mentioned that it was his first wreck, and that’s why he’s nervous. Part of me wanted to feel sorry for him. The other part saw my car sitting there, murdered, and wanted to hate him for a little longer. Then I remembered that we had just put $13.84 worth of gas in the tank…gas that we would never see again, seeing as the door to the gas tank was bent. This was the car that I drove for the drivers’ test. This was the car that I gave only the best gas. This was the car that I treated with the deluxe wash package from Saturn Car Care. This was my baby. To see it hurting made me hurt.
I wasn’t home the day the wrecker towed it away. At least two good things came from this horrid experience. I got enough pain and suffering money out of his insurance company to pay off my credit cards. I also got the wonderful opportunity to tell my father, “I told you so” because I was far enough back that we didn’t hit the car in front of us. It’s just a shame I had to lose the Camry to be able to say that. I told you so…I told you so…I told you so…
Copyright, 1998 - 2005. All Rights Reserved.
http://www.angelfire.com/al3/thecabin
The groovy border, button, and bar are courtesy Windy's Web Designs.
The great cabin graphic is courtesy Microsoft's Design Gallery Live.
