Despite the fact that I grew up in New Jersey I consider myself a pretty good driver. What can I say? I’m just the best.

Admittedly, I wasn’t always the most exemplary driver. I would (figuratively) cut corners like anyone who is comfortable with a task, and like many drivers I found myself pulling out my phone while behind the wheel. Though it wasn’t egregious, like my Dad who discreetly plays candy crush in traffic like he is texting a mistress, it was still inexcusable. I’m proud to say that now I will never take my phone out in the whip, but it took some persuasion.

Smash cut to my senior year of high school, the brisk yet disturbingly moist December air filled South Jersey. Administration had spent the final week before Christmas break bashing into our heads how to be responsible adults. Don’t drink, smoke, party, yadda, yadda, yadda. The big ticket item, however, was texting and driving. With the majority of my class driving to school and going off into the real world soon it was pretty apropos. I mean, within the last week I saw both a girl rear end someone in the parking lot and some guy hit a school bus. The videos they showed us were gut wrenching, teens losing their lives, families broken, fathers gone for one silly text. I was shook and thought about the tragedies the whole week as I scrolled through spotify whilst cruising down Cropwell road at a cool forty on my way home. 

Fast forward to break and these lessons had all but been erased from existence to me. Just like always I gave the adios to my family and headed out to my friends house to get in some much needed R and R. The black void of a sky had already descended upon me on my way along with a torrent of heavy water droplets. I came to a blaring red and Ah! A text. “You on your way?”

“Yep just left” I reply.

“Pick up some PDQ too”

“Ok”

I put my phone down and continued on my way, picking up those delectable tenders as well. I came to another annoying red, the rain popping on my roof, cascading down my windshield. I instinctively whipped out my phone and texted my buddy “almost there”. 

The green left turn arrow blinked in my peripherals. I looked up and leaned into the turn.

RKKRSKDKSBKAPAOEHLSKXKSSKKAKARRR!

Did I really just die?

Soon I came to my senses and realized what happened. My glasses were off, cold cream soda and crushed ice covered my face. The airbag was firmly planted on my chest, and my engine was making a demonic screech as my foot was glued down. I frantically excited the car, retrieved my phone and started calling. The adrenaline had completely replaced my blood as I called my parents and saw the crumpled piece of tin foil that was my car.  

Luckily I and everyone involved was unharmed, except for my poor chicken tenders. The whole experience put into perspective the fleeting nature of life, how it can be taken at any moment. More importantly it taught me about the weapon that is a car, and how like a gun, the wielder must always be paying attention to avoid the terrible consequences. I haven’t touched a phone while driving since.