The car that Sam wrecked

It's odd that just a few weeks ago I discussed having a wreck while eating a biscuit, because it happened. Well, a biscuit wasn't involved, luckily, nor a banana tree. But it was my fault; no surprise there.

I had pulled up behind a truck when getting off Bloomfield Road and was waiting my turn to get on the highway. I was spitting out the lyrics to "The Way You Move" while turning my head to see if a car was coming. Thinking the truck in front of me had already gone, and ignoring the fact that it actually may still be there, I quickly pressed the gas as my head was still at an angle to look for any oncoming cars --turning around just in time to see the edge of the truck scraping all the way down the passenger side of my car. I gave out a sound that resembled a mother chimpanzee giving birth and immediately thought of my insurance going up or the fact that the guy I hit may end up being John Basedow -- in which case he would proceed to harass me into buying his workout tapes and a bottle of Sunless Tan.

I pulled over, grabbed my cell phone, turned my hazard lights on and got out of my car in a panic, already forgetting that I had set my phone in my lap approximately 2.5 seconds ago. It hit the ground as I got out, rendering it useless.

Within a time frame of about three minutes, I had destroyed 85 percent of what a teenager's life consists of: a phone and car -- the other 15 percent being Bagel Bites.

"Sir, I'm so sorry! How much damage did I do, sir?" I said as I walked towards him. (The word "sir" becomes a prominent word in my vocabulary when offering my condolences out of pure fear.)

"Oh, not too much -- broken taillight and a little paint damage."

I ran over to my car thinking maybe it wasn't as bad as I had originally thought. Estimates for the total damage to my car are right around $3,500.

That's when the awkward stares began as we stood there waiting for the police. People drove by, pointing and thinking to themselves, "Man, I'm glad that's not me" or "It had to be that boy's fault."

I was probably a dead giveaway with the uncertain, constipated look on my face.

After about 20 minutes, the policeman finally arrived. One of the first things he said to me, sounding half amused as he looked at my car, was, "Boy, you got it all the way down the side didn't you?"

"Yes, sir," I said as calmly as I could while I thought of what would happen if I drove away in his patrol car. (Oh come on, you know you've thought about doing something like that.)

In the end, I was not issued a ticket and both the officer and the guy I drove into were very nice.

That is until I got into the patrol car and drove off into the sunset.

Sam DeReign is a graduate of Oran High School and a student at Southeast Missouri State University.