Bus-ted

We were on our way to a therapy appointment just like any other day since Christie’s accident. Every morning, up early to eat and get the kids rolling. Then it’s out the door to drive the 1 hr or so trip to the hospital for a 2-hour therapy session.

The traffic here is nuts on a good day and like a science fiction movie on a bad one–Think apocalyptic, end-times flick where everything is burned out and people are now cannibals. It can be a “Road Warrior” with a dash of “2012” stuffed with “The Book of Eli” wrapped in “Armageddon “ and deep-fried to a crusty diesel-smoke black. It is a beautiful thing to see. It’s like break dancing in a dumpster full of broken glass and scrap metal.

Well, this day was no different. There were motos (little motorcycles) everywhere. Buses of every color in every direction.  Cars, trucks, semi-trucks, horse carts, bicycles and pedestrians. There were street vendors and window washers and bus passengers and pan handlers pushing relatives in wheel chairs walking in between the cars. Just so you know we do have lines on the roads here but they are there to provide work for the road crew in painting and upkeep–they don’t actually mean anything to the drivers. I have noticed that I drive by instinct and not necessarily “by the book.” For me this is a sensory explosion. Much to the chagrin of my lovely spouse I have joked that I was genetically created by God to drive here.

The motorists jockey for position during the horn concert otherwise known as a red light. As I was waiting for the light to change and maintaining my spot (VW golf–not much of a spot), a bus began to creep up on my right side in what is affectionately called “the turning lane”. In actuality, it is the slide-up-and-wedge -your-way-in-before-the-concrete-median lane.

There was not enough space for him to pinch me off, so I made it in front of him. YES! I won in my mini-mobile. My David v Goliath type victory was short lived, though. In an effort to squeeze the behemoth bus in and effectively intimidate the economy class cracker-box behind me, the driver tagged me in the right rear fender. Before you start wigging out, it was barely a tap. A scrape, a little dent the size of a dollar bill, and a little paint traded, nothing more. No NASCAR stuff. I promptly parked the Golf and went to discuss the accident with the offender before he could get away. The bus drivers are notorious for leaving the scene. It’s a different world here.

I walked up and the traffic that could get by was whizzing by. Others were violently honking their displeasure at my blocking the road, and still the bus driver wouldn’t get out of his bus. In fact, when I went up to the window he wouldn’t even look my way. After the 3rd or 4th time I said, “You hit me,” he finally looked over and said, “No I didn’t, it wasn’t me.”

It wasn’t me. Are you serious? You’re the only bus around with exactly the same shade of green as my car in a sliding pattern on your front bumper. It turns out I have an exact duplicate, in white, on my rear fender. It wasn’t me? You gotta come up with a better one than that. The vehicles were basically still touching. It wasn’t me. What? Am I on one of those hidden camera shows or something? This guy can’t honestly think I would believe “It wasn’t me” would cover it.

As the cacophony of horns and people yelling came to a crescendo, he caved in. “3 blocks up the road is a police station, we can file a report there,” he offers. Of course, then he bails and I never saw him again. What can I do in the micro-machine against this god of the road?

After the adrenaline settled I thought about how I am that guy. Ever since Adam and Eve looked at God straight-faced and said “It  wasn’t me” we have been saying that, or at least I have. Every time I get caught with my hand in the  cookie jar I quickly toss out “It wasn’t me,” and every time I do, I have to pay the consequences. The cool thing is one time, for everyone who ever shouted  “It wasn’t me,” Jesus instantly jumped to our defense and said “Father treat this one like It was Me.”

 Do you try to dodge responsibility when you are wrong? Do you have a hard time accepting Christ’s punishment in your place?

10 thoughts on “Bus-ted

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  1. Hey I like it.You got something going there for sure.If you will hunt up some scrap metal and a welding mechine before I get there I’ll weld on bumper guards all the way around you car.It might look like it came out of Star Wars but then only theirs get bent.Then see who says “IT WASN’T ME.”…..

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      1. I didn’t know you had a blogspot, Ken. I just found it through Caroline’s new page. After I read her pot, I commented on how she has a similar writing style as Christie’s, because she is usually the one writing th “Hagerman’s On A Mission” posts. However, after reading your articles, I have to say that Caroline gets it honestly from both her parents, especially her sense of humor in her articles. You all do a great job of giving a very vivid scene of what you are writing about!

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  2. Too often we try to duck responsibility. I know I do it. We shift blame or pretend we didn’t drop the ball. I think we do it because of pride. I don’t want to admit when I’ve messed up. I don’t want to admit that I’m at fault.

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  3. Thanks so much for stopping by my blog! I try not to pass the buck—I’m willing to own up when I’m wrong. Mostly because it’s a huge pet peeve of mine when people won’t. Accepting Christ’s punishment is something else, though. It’s just so hard to fathom! I feel like I can’t get my mind around it enough sometimes, finite brain and all. What a silly human I am.

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  4. “The traffic here is nuts on a good day and a science fiction movie on a bad–Think apocalyptic, end-times flick where everything is burned out and people are now cannibals.”

    I, uh– I can see why you like it so much… :S

    For the record? This kind of thing frustrates me aaaaalmost more than aaaalmost anything else. If it were me writing this post it would’a been in all caps. Grrrrrrrrr…

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    1. HA! It’s like choreographed explosions. I am frustrated and angry through most drives of more than a few minutes but then I get to my destination and am awash in victory for having beaten the chaos and lived to drive again one day.Thanks for commenting I had forgotten to add you to my Reader.

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