Watch out for those flying tires!

I was driving along Interstate 65 North this afternoon, minding my own business, when WHAM!  The windshield shattered.  I don’t remember exactly what my reaction was.  I pulled to the side of the road and jumped out of the car (why???).  I brushed the glass from my clothes, made sure Hurricane was ok, then dialed 911.  The operator asked me where I was.  I had no clue.  I was standing on the side of the interstate in tears.  He told me to drive down to the nearest exit (I had told him the car was drivable.)  Just after pulling back onto the interstate I see a camper pulled to the side of the road with a shredded tire.  I’m guessing that’s what hit me. I get to exit 280 and the 911 operator patches me through to the local police.  The dispatcher tells me how to get to the station.  I get there and the cop says, “Oh, that’s not our area, you need to go back to Kimberly.”  Then he says, “Your insurance probably won’t require a police report, I wouldn’t worry about it.”  So then I call my insurance company and file a claim.  The lady at the insurance claims office said she didn’t think I would need a report.  As I’m standing there, I notice black marks on the bumper (which is knocked out of whack) and on the hood (with a nice dent.)  The place where the tire hit the windshield is punched in.  I’m so thankful it didn’t come THROUGH the windshield.  It bounced off.  I decided since the car is drivable and the windshield isn’t blocking my view and is safe to drive, to continue on my journey.  About 10 minutes later I had to pull off to the side of the interstate again because I guess the shock wore off and I needed to cry.  Hurricane was asleep in the back seat.  I had checked and she didn’t get any glass at all on her.  I, however, am still picking glass shards out of my arms and from my bra.  As I’m sitting there hyperventilating and crying, I notice the very same camper pass me by.  In a very lady-like fashion, I flipped them the international sign of disgust.  They didn’t see it, of course, and it’s not like it was their fault, but it made me feel a tiny bit better.  What are the odds, really?  I mean, of all those cars travelling along at 70 mph on the interstate, the rogue tire hits ME!  That’s just my luck folks….

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  1. Trackback: It comes in threes… « A Day In The Life Of…

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