Not us, thankfully.

But it was almost one of those days. We drove up into the city (we live about 17 miles south of the city and state limits) to run some errands. Nice, sunny day, no inclement weather or anything like that. Midday on a Saturday, not the right time for the inebriated to be on the road. Nowhere near the big college football game of the region, and not near the annual regional fair either, so no likelihood of impaired drivers due to some form of intake.

So why were we inches away from not one but two major accidents? Don't know, except that this city sucks. The first incident was when we exited the interstate to drive up into the eastern part of the city. The same place I turn every single morning on my way to work. We were stopped at the light at the top of the offramp. The light for the cross traffic went yellow, then red. There are a few seconds between the crossing red light and our green. We were in the right lane of two turn lanes, making a lefthand turn (thankfully not the left lane; if we had been a few feet to the left the close call would have become a direct hit). The light was solidly green before we started to move, but we were moving sooner than the cars to our left (they were lucky too). The guy who ran the light wasn't even close to making it. I don't know if he was already moving too fast to stop for the light and so he tried to make it, or if he was gunning it to try and make it and really misjudged, or if the dumba$$ didn't even see it (probably that last one), but in any case he was well exceeding the speed limit and seriously running the light. Everyone at some point has tried to make the light when it has gone yellow and has missed it, but not by this much. He saw us (how the hell you could miss our HUGE maroon Dodge Ram is beyond me) at the LAST POSSIBLE SECOND and swerved just barely enough to miss the front of the truck. I'm surprised he didn't clip our bumper anyway; it was that close. He lost control of his car, almost spun out completely (which would have been another disaster with oncoming traffic), and regained control and continued on his merry speeding way. All the drivers left at the intersection collectively let out a big sigh, shook their heads, and continued on, and so did we. It would have been much uglier for him than us; the benefit of driving a big truck is you have more vehicle around you for protection and you are sitting up above where most other vehicles might strike you (unless you get hit by another big vehicle or a semi--which is also really common around here). He was driving a small silver sedan, and a high-speed impact on the engine compartment of our big pickup would have f*&^ed him up BAD.

We nervously laughed off our close call, ran our errands, and got lunch at one of our fabulous Southern barbeque joints (yes, I know, it doesn't really help out my diet, but hey, I almost died so I'm gonna live it up a little). When we headed home we decided to backroad it a bit instead of staying on the interstate all the way. We were sedately driving down this six-lane road, a major one in town but with a speed limit of 40, and we had only been on it for about a minute when the rest of the excitement commenced. A black sedan several car-lengths ahead of us, just cruising along maybe 5 miles above the speed limit and not doing anything like passing anyone or even changing lanes, suddenly veered to the right, jumped onto the curb, and slammed into a telephone pole literally five feet from where a woman was standing on the sidewalk. Bits of metal, glass, and plastic flew everywhere, and the car rebounded into the street, blocking two of the three lanes of southbound traffic. We were in the farthest left lane anyway, so we were able to pass behind his car and then pull over into the far right lane. My husband whipped out his phone to call the police while I jumped out to see if anyone was hurt. Thankfully, the woman standing on the sidewalk was not injured at all (but startled as hell), and the man driving the car was also OK. He had a cut on one knuckle and was really shaken up, but otherwise he was fine. He didn't know what had caused the car to swerve; he said it was almost like his brakes locked up. It wasn't a cell phone related accident because he didn't even have one; he borrowed mine to call his family. The entire right front panel and the front bumper were peeled off the car. The frame was clearly bent and the passenger-side front post was crumpled along with the hood. The passenger side of the windshield was totally shattered. The front axle was ruined along with the wheel, and there was that heavy grayish-green grease sprayed all over the ground. All of the airbags had triggered, thank goodness. The police showed up to take care of things, and after giving the officer our names and contact information as witnesses we got back in the truck and drove home. We were going to stop at the gym on the way home and work off some of the barbeque, but after our close calls we just felt that it would be safer to head straight home and not leave the house again all weekend.

I almost feel like someone in one of those Final Destination movies, you know, where they somehow avoid the event that is supposed to kill them and then death chases them around for the rest of the show? I hope that isn't the case. Because if it is, even though we don't plan on driving anywhere the rest of the weekend, we do live right on a major highway where everyone speeds, and there are a lot of big semis, and our house is only a few feet from the edge of the road...

If you need me, I'll be under the bed, sucking my thumb.