These Things Happen...

Layoffs, cramps, and minor car accidents.

These things happen.

The layoffs at my job this week were extremely terrifying to put it succinctly. People with whom I exchanged emails and attended meetings on a weekly basis were no longer employed. How was this happening? Our company was untouchable. We weren't bankers. We weren't building Chrysler's. We weren't shipping mail. We were a viable entertainment company with growth in 2008; on the path of knocking out our top two competitors. Again, how was this happening?

They say the last one in is the first one out. I had only just started in December. On top of that, I just recently moved into my own new place and was already living beyond my means in preparation for my birthday. Please don't tell me my beloved little job is in jeopardy. Please, just don't even imply it.

What's most unsettling is that the company made these cuts as preventative measures. Come to find out we're not even struggling (comparatively speaking). We were taking the necessary precautions to ensure we didn't fall flat on our faces later on down the line. I understand that. It's a business after all... but man. It's like coming to school one morning to find a few of your friends had moved away... in the middle of the night... with no forwarding address.

They weren't even poor employees, which makes me even more nervous. It makes me think that, even if I'm doing a kick-ass job right now, it might not even matter. If the company president believes my boss can hit his financial goals for 2009 without little ol' me, then I'm gone. Out in the cold with nowhere to go. Even typing those words sends a tiny little shiver down my spine.

The layoffs seemed almost arbitrary, though I have enough faith in our leadership to believe that they weren't. But, honestly, I mean, these people were working hard. I knew, because I was emailing them every day on various projects. They weren't slacking. They weren't cutting corners. They weren't rude, disrespectful, nosy, politically incorrect... nothing. And yet, for whatever reason, they were the ones who got cut.

Indeed, Tuesday was a hard day.

Today was no better. My friends' pheromones were throwing me for a loop, thus my scheduled monthly visitor would be popping up whenever she felt like it this time... After accepting this tiny annoyance, I made my way through the rain to my old apartment complex for last minute cleaning and to pick up my mail. As I was leaving the mailboxes to head back to work, it occurred to me that I might need to make a quick trip to Dollar Tree. I needed a few random things for my new apartment...











WHAM.

...and I'm screaming. What just happened. Why is my car - wait, where did that car just come from. Who is this man?

I collect myself. I open my door, and step out into the drizzling rain to survey the damage. "You didn't see me coming?" he asked. "I had the right-of-way!" I said, trying to hold back my anger. "No... I HAVE the right of way," he argued. "You hit me. You. Hit. Me." I state. He's already on the phone; pacing back and forth. Shit. Bits and pieces of his fender litter the apartment complex pavement. There's a huge dent right above the front passenger wheel, as well as a superficial scratch that can't be rubbed away. Great. Another expense. ANOTHER EXPENSE!

I get back in my car to call the insurance company. Concentrate, Michele. You're calling AARP Roadside Assistance, and you should be calling State Farm. Calm down. Wait. Call 911 first. Relax.

Deep breaths. An officer is on his way already. Deep breaths. Our family insurance agent walks me through the process. The officer is knocking at my window. "License and insurance," he says. I hand it to him. "Can you explain what happened," he asks. I'm calm. My voice is steady. I tell him what transpired.

He walks over to talk to the guy. I'm starting to feel bad. Was it my fault? No. I was creeping along, when he hit me from out of nowhere. Slammed into me... to the point that his front right wheel doesn't even appear to be properly positioned on the car anymore. He had to have been speeding or something. Neither of us had a stop sign. Does that mean neither of us had the right-of-way? Was this my fault?

The officer is at my window again. "Because this is private property, I cannot assign blame in this instance." I let that sink in. "Call this number on Monday, and you can pick up your police report in one of the following locations," he says handing me the paperwork. That's it. That's it?

It occurs to me that I need to exchange information with the guy individually... but evidently, he wants no part of that. He hops into his car and attempts to drive away. I'm back on the phone with our agent for follow-up instructions. Breathe.

"You didn't exchange insurance information?!" the agent asks. "It's on the police report," I reply, calmly. "Well, what kind of car does he have... what's his license plate number?" That information is easy to give him, because the guy hasn't made it far away. His front axle is completely ruined, and his car can't even make it over the speed bumps to get out of the complex. I feel bad. But... he hit ME! He HIT me. My car is driving fine. The alignment is fine. There are no noises... nothing weird happening. He had to have been speeding.

I make it out of the complex, and the rain begins to fall a little harder. I make it to a gas station... and the monsoon begins. I'm bawling. "M-mom," I stammer. "I got into an accident."

I hate making mistakes. I hate when things go wrong. I hate when things beyond my control take place. My mom manages to soothe my nerves. Though her initial reaction was less than warm (::semi-audible sigh:: "what happened?"), my explanation of the situation reassured her that it wasn't my fault. He hit ME.

I hadn't been blasting my music. I hadn't been talking or texting on my blackberry. I hadn't been eating; I hadn't been speeding; I wasn't drunk. I had been paying full attention, peddling along at what had to have been 15 miles per hour. I- I hadn't been distracted! And, I'm ALWAYS distracted... I'm the classic "accident-waiting-to-happen" on any given day of the week. And yet, this is how I ended up in a car accident. Not a scratch on my body; no real damage to my car. The Lord works in mysterious ways.

I went back to work. Shaken. Sad. Stressed.



Sometimes, these things just happen.