Typical February morning, workday. I am shaved and groomed, tie knotted and the topcoat snugged over my ensemble (I am laughing out loud, hope you are too).
Stepping off the back porch I carefully set one foot before the other, for a slick of solid ice covers the ground, a thin slick, to be sure, but slippery as, well, you know. I arrive at the garage and throw up the overhead door. That's right. It had no "garage door opener" other than the driver of the vehicle.
Now I call your attention to the drawing above. The street is quite narrow but does accommodate parking along the curb and a lane for moving traffic. I must back my car down the drive, and "down" has some meaning here, crank the wheel as the rear of the vehicle enters the street, then
But "then" did not occur this morning as planned. The neighbor across the street has a penchant for parking his wheels directly in front of his house, which as you see is also directly opposite the debouchment of my driveway. Remember the ice. I did, and I was ever, oh so careful. And yet although I turned the steering wheel, the wheels of the two-and-one-quarter ton behemoth did naught but slide on backward. I hit the brake, and the car continued to ski. Into the neighbor's vehicle.
My car sustained damage to the extent that there was a smudge of red paint on the bumper which was easily scoured off with rubbing compound. Jon's car did not fare so well.
After arriving at work and getting the day started, I had to call my insurance agent to report this incident. Now here is the fun part of the story. The crunched vehicle belongs to my insurance agent's son. You may smile now; after all, this all happened nearly forty years ago.
Word of the day: debouchment