Graceful Disaster

I knew I was going to be late. I checked my watch and drummed my hands on the steering wheel, like that would magically dissolve the traffic. I worried my lower lip and stared at the trunk of the Nissan Sentra in front of me. My first job interview of the year and I would be late.

It didn’t help that my legs were sticking to the leather of the seat. I didn’t know why I had bought a car with leather seats or why (with the knowledge that it was June in New Jersey and my car having leather seats) I wore a skirt that reached my knees when I stood, but was mid-thigh when I sat.

I had given up on the suit jacket a while ago, but even with the air-conditioning on full blast, I was still perspiring. That word seemed less disgusting than “sweating”. That word brought images of pit stains and wet backs. My eyes quickly darted down to my “fancy” white tank top to check for any visible evidence.

The cars inched up and I followed, glancing at my watch one more time. Five minutes until I had to be there. I should have left earlier, but I had to control my hair. The waves had too much body and dwarfed my already petite face. Another quick glance in the rearview mirror assured me that the humidity hadn’t destroyed my hard work. Back to worrying my lip, I stared diligently at the space between the front of my car and the trunk of the blue Nissan Sentra.

Another one of my nervous habits was jiggling my knee. I was trying to stop myself from doing that. It was a sign of nervous energy as far as businesses were considered. Whenever I could feel myself about to start I would grip my leg and concentrate on something else.

A few more inches we moved. I could feel the tension on the road; someone was going to snap soon. I glanced at my watch again. Two minutes until I had to be there. My turn off was a few yards away. I jiggled my right knee.

Then I realized my mistake as I accidentally released the brake pedal causing the car to surge forward and crash into blue Nissan Sentra. Not really “crash” though, but it was enough of a tap to set off the air bags.

I knew that I was going to be late. I knew I would.

The air bag deflated and I let my head go down with it. Then I gripped my steering wheel and smacked my head lightly on the grip. Why, oh why, did I seem to never make it to important things? My brother’s wedding? I had to fix a rip in my dress (I was one of the bridesmaids). My father’s retirement party? Flat tire. My head hit the horn and I jumped, to smack the back of my head on the sun visor.

I felt like ripping my hair out. I glanced at my watch. Well, I could kiss that secretary position “good-bye”. The person in the Nissan got out and walked to survey the damage. I didn’t want to roll down my window or get out of the car. I didn’t want to be yelled at right now. That was on my Not To-Do list underneath “Get Raped.” The man was in his twenties and I knew how protective men my age are about their cars.

They are at the point in their lives that they can buy a good car without really breaking a sweat and even fix it up. No one used the word “pimped out” in New Jersey (well, no one that lived in this town). I could almost see the muscle in his jaw twitch, but it was slightly obscured by the perfect mop of brown hair on his head.

He pulled out his cell phone without shooting me a glance. He was reporting it to the police. I perched my chin on the top of the wheel and prepared myself for the onslaught of insurance and police questions that were heading for me at that minute.

His eyes looked at my license plate to read it off and then he flipped his phone shut, leaning on the side of his car as the cars behind me got the hint that I wasn’t going anywhere for a while and began to maneuver around me. I saw the flashing lights before I saw the patrol cars. Inwardly, I groaned.

After a half hour of answering questions, the police were wrapping up and my phone rang.

“Hello?” I pressed it to my ear. It was hard to hear over the cars zooming by.

“Ms. Mernad?"

"It's Ménard."

"This is Mr. Fieldmin’s office. I’m sorry to say that the position has been filled so there is no need for you to come in today.” I stumbled slightly and leaned on my hood. “Oh, right. Well, thank you for calling.”

“Have a wonderful day.”

“You too.” The click told me she hung up the phone. That click was also the sound of my self-esteem for the day bottoming out.

I threw the phone into my passenger seat and placed a hand over my eyes. “This is the best. Day. Ever.”

The nice policeman let me go home since only the paint was scratched and the questioning was more of a formality that a necessity. I thanked him profusely, hopped in my car and started it. The tension in my shoulders was killing me as I hunched over at the wheel to collect myself. I made a note to take a nice long, self pitying bubble bath when I walked into my apartment. I looked up for the man who I had hit. I realized that he was the only one staring at me while everyone else was busy filling out forms. He had his phone to his ear, but his eyes on me.

I noticed that he had the best shade of green eyes I had ever seen, and then I remembered that I was staring and quickly placed my sight back on the road as I pulled out and headed for home.

When I looked in my rearview mirror, he was watching me drive away.