Wysi·Wyg Volume I, Issue 3

Crash Course
by Jenny R.

So it’s not every day that I get to my mother bellowing at a poor old garbage truck lady. No it’s not every day that I see my mother act like a lunatic. But today was not like every other day.

At 7:10a.m., Jessie my older sister of 17 (at the time) and I pulled out of our driveway in her White 1995 Toyota Four Runner. Now, you say “1995? That car has to be a piece of junk,” but this car was rather nice for its make and model; leather interior, power windows and lows, and even air conditioning, pure luxury I tell you. But back to the story, well school starts at 7:20a.m. and we live, let’s say, a good 15 minutes away from school. So that left us about 10 minutes to take a 15 minutes drive, not to mention traffic on the way. Now knowing my sister and her first period teacher, she was determined not to be late to class.

As we pulled out of the driveway, a loud, make your eardrums burst and bleed, screech echoed in our “now bleeding” ears. I looked over my right shoulder to see our mailbox, not in a very friendly way, hugging the passenger’s side of the car. Paint scratched, car dented, and I can’t even bring myself to describe the poor mailbox.

Well, I couldn’t be late… again, to school, so I panicked and told her to peel out. Both silent with utter disbelief, we sped out towards the school. At precisely 7:19 we were running into the school, weaving in and out of soon to be truant bystanders, and we were both in class within that last sacred minute. We expected to get “a talking to” later that day, but we didn’t think anymore of it after that faithful bell rang and we were ensured not to be locked out of the classroom.

We got home from school that day before my mom arrived and were both knocked out in our respective beds before 2:30p.m. At 3:30, the phone rang. It was my mom, screaming on the other end of the receiver. She had gone to walk some dogs we had been pet sitting and had taken Jessie’s car. She told me to look up the number of the police station, not emergency aka 911, but the non-my house is on fire number, and the garbage company. I wrote down the two numbers and asked what happened. “The garbage truck driver hit the car,” she yelled, like I was driving the truck, and the one to blame.

Jessie and I raced over there in my mom’s van. We thought the car had been totaled in a freak garbage collecting accident. I was expecting to see the Four Runner with diapers and banana peels draped across its windows. When we arrived, my mom was standing in the middle of the road raising hell. The garbage woman stood there solemnly, but you could see it in her eyes, she was not happy. We walked to the Four Runner and looked at each other in sheer terror. We saw the scratches across the passenger’s side and the dents too. As we confessed, my mom’s eyes widened, blood surged through the “angry” vein on my mom’s forehead and you could see the embarrassment on the outside but the red hot fury on the inside. She apologized very sincerely to the driver and after she left, Jessie and I were walking death row. So, that’s pretty much the worst trouble I have ever gotten myself into, even though it was completely not my fault. I got reamed out that day like I had committed a felony. I can’t go into detail much due to the PG rating of this story, but just use your imagination.

That day, I made a complete fool of my mom. After that day, I knew that I had better have an apartment on standby if I ever plan to pull a stunt like that again.

Crash Course by Jenny R. So it’s not every day that I get to my mother bellowing at a poor old garbage truck lady. No it’s not every day that I see my mother act like a lunatic. But today was not like every other day. At 7:10a.m., Jessie my older sister of 17 (at the time) and I pulled out of our driveway in her White 1995 Toyota Four Runner. Now, you say “1995? That car has to be a piece of junk,” but this car was rather nice for its make and model; leather interior, power windows and lows, and even air conditioning, pure luxury I tell you. But back to the story, well school starts at 7:20a.m. and we live, let’s say, a good 15 minutes away from school. So that left us about 10 minutes to take a 15 minutes drive, not to mention traffic on the way. Now knowing my sister and her first period teacher, she was determined not to be late to class. As we pulled out of the driveway, a loud, make your eardrums burst and bleed, screech echoed in our “now bleeding” ears. I looked over my right shoulder to see our mailbox, not in a very friendly way, hugging the passenger’s side of the car. Paint scratched, car dented, and I can’t even bring myself to describe the poor mailbox. Well, I couldn’t be late… again, to school, so I panicked and told her to peel out. Both silent with utter disbelief, we sped out towards the school. At precisely 7:19 we were running into the school, weaving in and out of soon to be truant bystanders, and we were both in class within that last sacred minute. We expected to get “a talking to” later that day, but we didn’t think anymore of it after that faithful bell rang and we were ensured not to be locked out of the classroom. We got home from school that day before my mom arrived and were both knocked out in our respective beds before 2:30p.m. At 3:30, the phone rang. It was my mom, screaming on the other end of the receiver. She had gone to walk some dogs we had been pet sitting and had taken Jessie’s car. She told me to look up the number of the police station, not emergency aka 911, but the non-my house is on fire number, and the garbage company. I wrote down the two numbers and asked what happened. “The garbage truck driver hit the car,” she yelled, like I was driving the truck, and the one to blame. Jessie and I raced over there in my mom’s van. We thought the car had been totaled in a freak garbage collecting accident. I was expecting to see the Four Runner with diapers and banana peels draped across its windows. When we arrived, my mom was standing in the middle of the road raising hell. The garbage woman stood there solemnly, but you could see it in her eyes, she was not happy. We walked to the Four Runner and looked at each other in sheer terror. We saw the scratches across the passenger’s side and the dents too. As we confessed, my mom’s eyes widened, blood surged through the “angry” vein on my mom’s forehead and you could see the embarrassment on the outside but the red hot fury on the inside. She apologized very sincerely to the driver and after she left, Jessie and I were walking death row. So, that’s pretty much the worst trouble I have ever gotten myself into, even though it was completely not my fault. I got reamed out that day like I had committed a felony. I can’t go into detail much due to the PG rating of this story, but just use your imagination. That day, I made a complete fool of my mom. After that day, I knew that I had better have an apartment on standby if I ever plan to pull a stunt like that again.