Welcome back to another week of your submitted materials based on a common theme. This week our theme is “Someday I’ll look back on this and laugh.” If you’d like to be added to the list for Assignment G.L.O.C. please email writing clips to sayhello[at]thegloc.net.

Oops, I Had an Accident
By Jen Mac

2007: My coworker and I are in hysterics. We’re doubled over in the narrow hall of our magazine offices, trying not to draw too much attention to ourselves. I’ve told this story a thousand times, but I’ve never whispered it in a hallway at work.

1995: I’m sitting on a curb in suburban San Diego, a towel and the arm of a stranger over my shoulders. Across the street, two cops and a handful of curious neighbors are inspecting the wreckage of the 1988 Dodge Caravan I’d just crashed into a parked truck, then a tree. The front “JENMAC” California vanity license plate hangs by one pathetic edge. I’m vaguely aware of my Samaritans’ platitudes as we wait for the ambulance and, worse, my parents. “…car is replaceable. You aren’t.” “…they’ll just be glad you’re ok.” Then one man says, “well, maybe you’ll get a new car out of this.” “Yeah,” I mumble. “A hearse.” He laughs, and I glare at him. This. is not. Funny, asshole. I’m 17, and about to end up with 2 points on my license and, thanks to the proximity of this accident to my high school, a lifetime of ridicule. You have to be a really terrible driver to hit a parked car.

2007: My coworker is gasping for breath.  “That… is.. the dumbest…” she squeaks. I’m nodding in agreement, laughing too hard to speak. “The paramedics must have thought you were on crack!” We whisper-laugh harder; her casual remark about a fender-bender has led to me recounting one of my weirder teenage experiences.

1995: The lady who’d been sitting next to me leaps to her feet as my parents’ car pulls up. I’m still on the curb, answering the paramedics’ questions. Yes, I was wearing a seat belt. No, I didn’t lose consciousness. No, I haven’t been drinking, I just had to sneeze really bad. No, people don’t usually crash cars when they sneeze. Yes, I was alone in the car. I answer the exact same questions when curb lady comes back with my parents. They don’t say much else. Their faces are grim and I can tell my mom is mortified. The paramedics load me into the ambulance and my mom gets in the front seat, while my dad returns to their car so he can follow us to the hospital.

2007: I’m trying to explain the logic. “It was summer! I wanted to be tan! But I had to test it on my skin first!” Several other magazine editors are poking their heads into the hall.

1995: “I’m just going to check for signs of internal injuries,” says a lady paramedic as she puts away her flashlight after determining that my pupils are equal and reactive. She pokes at my belly without lifting my shirt, asking if anything hurts. When I squirm slightly, she decides to check for bruising, even though I explain that she was just tickling me. She lifts up my shirt and makes a noise that’s a cross between an old-timey car honk and a fart. My mom turns around in her seat to find out why, and gasps.

2007: “I wanted to write something, but it had to be short.” Several editors have now gathered in the hall to hear this story, which I’ve backed up slightly for reference. Not that any of it makes sense.

1995: “Jen! When did you do that!?” My mom is horrified, but the paramedic lady is cackling. Underneath my wide-ribbed scoopneck shirt, in glaring orange on my pasty white belly, is the word MOO, which I’d written in fake tan a day earlier. I’d completely forgotten about it. “Hmm,” I say, trying to keep the mood light. “I guess that stuff does work.” My mother is not amused. This is a CAR ACCIDENT. It is SERIOUS. I’m hoping the ambulance doesn’t go the way of the minivan, because now the driver is laughing too. So’s the guy who closed the door behind us and doesn’t seem to have any other responsibilities. After we arrive at the hospital and I’ve been assigned a curtain area, several nurses pop in and make one excuse or another to check my belly. More doctors than seem necessary for a single-vehicle accident with no major injuries seem very interested in whether I might have abdominal bruising. Even the guy delivering jello decides to take a gander. Technically, I’m humiliated. But overall I’m extremely grateful. I’m grateful to myself, to that bottle of fake tan I wanted to test, and to the paramedic lady who discovered my creative way of testing it. I’ve done two incredibly dumb things in less than 24 hours, but instead of just suffering through a needless, silly car accident and hoping nobody ever finds out about it, I at least have a story I’ll be able to tell one day. And laugh about.

Jen Mac is a New York-based writer, editor and blogger. Her work has appeared in dozens of national magazines, newspapers, books and on television and radio. Topics she’s covered include health, finance, information technology, relationships, travel, entertainment, pop culture, and her favorite, interviews with interesting people.
Her blog “In the New” was featured on CNN (“Young People Who Rock”), on National Public Radio (“Weekend America”), and in Cosmopolitan magazine (“Q&A”).