Uh, the common denominator here is I

"It's not your fault someone ran a red light in an intersection."

"You can't help it that someone was distracted and rear-ended you." 

"You can't blame yourself because this happened yet again!"

I am blessed with a small but mighty tribe, who offer lovely, affirming words to lift me and carry me through the hassle of car crashes, one after the other. I love these people.

But let's be real. (Wow, that would be a great name for a social media platform, don't you think?)

Sorry, talk about being distracted.

Let's be real.

The common denominator here is I.

On Tuesday morning, I pulled out of the Gas-N-Go in Orem, carrying a fresh, fountain Diet Coke on pebbled ice in my light gray Stanley. I was all in! Ready to face my two UVU classes, excited to see the faces of eager young college students determined to improve their rhetorical writing skills. 

As I entered an intersection only a half mile from campus, on a clear GREEN light, I noticed a huge, white pickup truck headed toward me from the side street. I glanced up to confirm my light was green while slamming on my brake to avoid impact. I wasn't fast enough. Crash!

My mind raced: Are you freakin' kidding me? Again? Again?? Why do people keep crashing into me?

Breathe.

My second thought was that I had class in 20 minutes, and I still needed to find parking on a giant campus with half the number of parking spots as people who need them. Ugh!

I circled around and parked on the side street behind the truck that hit me. The other driver approached, a seemingly nice guy who immediately asked "Are you okay?" Yes, yes, I'm physically fine. Emotionally, not so much.

"I'm good," I assured him. "How about you?" Of course his monster truck protected him from all harm; he was just fine. We exchanged the necessary information: names, cell phone numbers, insurance companies. I could do this in my sleep; I do it so often. Neither of us wanted to call the police. I have limited experience with cops, but sadly, almost all of it unfavorable. I believe most officers are kind and caring public servants, whose goal is to help people, calm them, treat them gently, do whatever they can to comfort and assist them. I just haven't encountered any of these. 

When Seth was three years old and decided to walk to Harmon's by himself to buy Skittles, and I was a frantic mess trying to find him, the cop who returned him to me declared in the harshest, most condescending tone, "You need to keep better watch on your kids, ma'am." No empathy whatsoever for a scared, hysterical mother, who does everything in her power to keep her children safe. Eight years later, this same child (shoutout to Seth!) got hit by a car in a crosswalk on his way to middle school. The cop who came to the hospital, without even asking Seth how he was feeling, gruffly announced that the incident was Seth's fault and he needed to be more careful crossing the street. 

No, I had zero interest in calling the police. I just needed to get to school. I was about to drive away, when the wife of the other driver noticed oil dripping from the front of my car. "Uh, I don't think you should drive this," she warned. "Look at that oil." Great. They sensed my frustration, because yes, class! I needed to get to class! Odd as it seems, they offered to drive me the half mile to campus, and three seconds later, I was in their big truck, heading to school. As we drove the five minutes to campus, thoughts of kidnappers, serial killers, and armed bank robbers filled my head, but those thoughts were quickly pushed aside as I thanked them and leaped out of their foot-high backseat and ran into the Woodbury Building at UVU.

I'd love to report that this was the end of my bad luck for the week, but the following day when I drove Shulamith's van to school, verbally willing surrounding cars not to crash into me, I managed to snap the wire on her E-break, which is apparently difficult to do, but I guess I just have a strong left foot? Nope, can't make this stuff up. 

It's now been three days since the crash. I have a rental car provided by my insurance company as I wait for the other driver's insurance company to accept liability, so I can get my car repaired.

If it's repairable, that is. Oh, how I hope it is. I like my car. I do not want a new car. 

Meanwhile, I have to wonder if I need to add driving to the lengthy list of things I suck at. Really, though. Maybe I'm just a bad driver, so other cars keep crashing into me. 

Because the common denominator here is I.