Over the last week, I acquired a bottle of pretty good tequila, Jose Cuervo 1800 Especial. I don’t drink tequila very often, but when I do, it better be good and and it better be clear. None of that muddy shit for me. So Friday night, some friends and I were gathered over at the Narnia Harem and drinkin margaritas (Out of Mason jars, as is my way). A couple of the Ladyfolk were kinda drunk and tired so they decided to go home. My buddy Bill and I were still going strong and decided to go to our favorite waterin’ hole, Fontaine’s.
We hopped in Bill’s Lexus SUV and set out for the bar about a half mile down the road. Now before you ask, Bill showed up late and hadn’t been drinking, I, on the other hand, was feeling pretty good.
We pulled out on to the main drag and were traveling in the inside lane when all of a sudden…
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I exclaimed. A brand new Honda Civic going in the opposite direction decided to turn left about 20 feet in front of us. Bill barely had time to tap his brakes before we slammed into the front right corner of the Honda. I saw the accident coming so I pulled my right leg up and the force of the accident drove my shin into the dash, resulting in a rather nice bruise. It’s a damn good thing the air bag didn’t deploy or else I’d probably be missing a few teeth or have a broken nose courtesy of my knee.
Neither Bill nor I were injured, so he steered his Lexus into an adjacent parking lot and we hurried out to check on whoever was driving the other car. All the side-curtain airbags were deployed and the Honda obviously got the worst of the damage. There was a rather attractive girl driving and evidently the force of the air bag knocked her a bit loopy. She was also able to get her car out of the road, so we waited for the cops to show up.
As I mentioned before, this girl driving the other car was pretty damn attractive, and me being about 3-quarters buzzed and her being a bit shook up, I reckoned I oughta show her some of the Ole Biloxxxi charm. It turns out she was a doctor who just graduated from Emory. She is gonna be an orthopaedic surgeon and my mom works for one so we conversed about that for a bit. Then she began remarking about my southern accent, which is like catnip to Yankee women with any sort of sense. She was raised in New York and had a very “proper” accent, meaning she pronounced everything correctly in the manner that a newscaster would. We discussed the pronunciation of local roads and how locals say them. (For future reference, southerners say things how they are spelled. I.e. pee-can not pa-con for pecan). It seemed to be going rather well, the cop showed up and was writing up her report, and I was making some in-roads with this beanhead (A bit ironic that I absolutely suck at hitting on women in bars, but I’m pretty much awesome at hitting on accident victims). It started to rain a little bit, so we opened up the tailgate of Bill’s SUV and sat down there. Then it started to get weird.
We were sitting there when the police officer walks up and says, “Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to stand up and put your hands behind your back.” Bill and I exchanged a “WTF?” glance as the cop is putting her in the backseat of the patrol car. I ask the cop if we can call someone for her so she doesn’t have to call around from the city jail to find someone to bail her out. The Atlanta City Jail is not somewhere you want to be, so I figured the sooner somebody helped her out, the better. The police officer said that would be fine, so I grabbed her phone and walked over to the police car to call somebody for her. As I stood there trying to call her boyfriend (damnations, but just cause there’s a goalie, don’t mean you can’t score) a curious thing happened. This girl managed to slip out of her handcuffs. At this point, I couldn’t decide whether I was freaked out or turned on.
There was a bit of an awkward moment there while I was standing by a cop car with my hand through the window holding a cell phone up to the head of doctor who is under arrest and has just slipped out of her handcuffs. I backed away just in case this was a situation I didn’t really need to be a part of (at least I had that amount of drunk reasoning). While we were flailing about in the back seat, the cop was figuring out what she had actually done to get arrested in the first place. Evidently, she had a speeding ticket from in Oklahoma that she supposedly paid online, but something didn’t get processed. The cop then realized the girl was no longer handcuffed, which tends to be a problem, so she hopped out and cuffed her a little tighter. She let her stand beside the car with me though, which made my cellphone holding job a bit easier. Her boyfriend neglected to answer the phone, so I just sorta wandered back over to Bill’s car to watch this play out for a bit.
I heard the girl ask the police officer where they were gonna take her and the cop told her the City Jail. As I mentioned before, this is not where you want to be, and she was going into general population, not the drunk tank. Immediately, this girl starts bawling like somebody knocked up her show pony. I suppose the cop felt sorry for her, because she worked out some sort of deal to let her go, so she came over and cried on my shoulder for awhile. Bill’s car was still driveable so we were able to leave at this point. Back to the bar as originally planned. I didn’t get the girl’s phone number, but there’s always facebook right? Anybody know the ethics on facebookin a girl you met in a car crash?
UPDATE: Car Wreck Girl totally called to check on me last night. Evidently the airbags knocked her a bit loopy (which I already knew) and she couldn’t remember exactly how blue my eyes were. She needed a reminder.
