Bad Shit Happens Like Clockwork (in a New York Accent)

Bad Shit Happens Like Clockwork

In a New York accent

Bad Shit happens like clockwork-

Our car, my families car is out 

of commission, 

so to speak, actually the girl 

who rents a room from us,

the bipolar one, she totaled our

car. One night, in the middle 

of the night, she’s out with her

boyfriend, when-WHAM-

she smashes into the guard rail 

on some lonely deserted

road in Long Island or someplace. 

She gave us her car,

just like that, it is a piece of crap, but hey it drives-and

we didn’t care so much, I mean we like her, we

have a car when we need it-

like today, we needed it, to get here, to get this funeral.

We all pile into this little Chevet or whatever it is, 

my three babies, my husband and me-the car

is so small we are crammed in like Pickles in a

jar at the roller skating rink on Sunday afternoon.

We are heading out of the city on Rhode Island Ave

when - BLAM - a car hit us from behind. 

All the windows of the rolling death trap we are in

shatter-I’m in the back seat, a car seat on either side,

my daughter, she’s up front with my husband and

we are all covered in little tiny shards of

glass.  My husband throws open the door into

the oncoming traffic of Rhode Island Ave-the kids

and I are silent and in shock-my husband yells “What

the Fuck were you thinking” as he jumps out of the 

drivers seat into the oncoming traffic.  I am trying to

pick the glass off my boys.

I turn to get a look at the son of a bitch that plowed

into us, he is out of his truck, apologizing and using

all kinds of hand gestures to talk to my husband-he 

was saying he was sorry, but I don’t think he knew

how to say anything else in English, he was just waving

his hands and talking but I have no idea what he was saying-

You know my husband, he’s a pain in the 

ass sometimes, but he’s really just a big old softy,

he felt terrible for yelling Fuck at that guy so he 

starts apologizing and waving his hands around too.

There is so much glass in the car, tiny little pieces

in all of our clothes, and my little one he’s only 3 

so it was hard for him to try and sit still while I cut up

my hands trying to get the glass off of him.

All three of them had recovered from the impact 

and now were traumatized and screaming their

heads off.

Cars are flying past us-My husband and the mexican 

guy that hit us are deep in conversation,sharing 

a moment and bonding over the tragedy that has 

befallen us.  What needs to happen is that we need to

get the car out of the road and the kids away from 

all that glass, but no, My husband still feels so bad about

yelling Fuck that he continues to apologize to the Mexican,

I’m thinking that there isn’t time for them roast a goat over the fire

because we still have to get here-to the funeral.

The bad driver explains to my husband that he doesn’t 

have insurance, he has no idea what a bleeding heart 

my husband is...My husband LOVES Mexicans, the more

illegal the better-he assures this guy he won’t call the police 

or the insurance company or the INS or whatever the

hell they call  them these days.  I’m worried that if

my babies continue screaming I might shove some

glass in their throats just to make them be quiet and 

now we are all freezing, because with out car windows

it is God Damn Cold.

My husband comes back to the car smiling,

that is because he has been standing in traffic bonding,

instead of sitting in a freezing cold car with

screaming babies covered in glass-

“It’s alright” he says.

(Pause)

“He has four cars at his house, he said we

can have anyone we want”

So-here we are.  We made it.  We borrowed

a car from my son’s preschool teacher

We just left that piece of shit Chevet in front of an

oral surgeons office on Rhode Island Ave.

Before we left, that little Mexican guy started 

waving at us- he and my husband spoke with hand gestures - 

 Thanks to him, we remembered to take the license plates off.