Me & The Dodge Sprinter of Death, November 2006
I almost died once.
Well, a few times.
We all have those stories, right?
Those car accidents we missed by MERE SECONDS.
That time you came heart-stoppingly close to falling onto the subway tracks when you were drunk.
That time you choked on a piece of chicken in the student lounge in college and that really tall pale freshman kid whose name you can’t remember gave you the heimlich and it actually worked (WHO KNEW?! I THOUGHT THOSE SIGNS WERE A LOAD OF CRAP!) and the chicken went flying out of your mouth across the room and you ran into Tim Eimiller’s arms sobbing hysterically because WHAT IF NO ONE WAS THERE? WHAT IF YOU WERE KILLED BY CHICKEN SOUVLAKI! WHAT A BLEAK WAY TO GO.
No? That last one is just me?
Okay, then.
So, the chicken thing happened.
Also, that time when I was almost kidnapped when I was three. You’d have to ask my mom about that because I was too young to remember the details. And really, who knows if I would’ve been killed. I maybe would’ve just been hidden in someone’s basement for 18 years, repeatedly raped and forced to bear some dude’s children.
Wait. I’m getting off topic.
I almost died a few times.
And one of those instances happened in the parking lot of this place:
If you’re not familiar with Canada, you might not recognize this fabulous establishment. Canada is full of them. Also? Tim Hortons and reallyyyy intimidating immigration officers.
Three years ago, I was on tour with a children’s theatre production for two and a half months. If you’re just tuning in, you can watch me sing about landing that gig and securing my Actors’ Equity card here. We spent the majority of the time driving around the South which was the BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME. As payback, towards the end, we made our way up through Cleveland into some grimy parts of Canada and back into the States via Detroit. (Insert your own Cleveland, Ohio/vast Canadian tundra/Detroit jokes here.)
It was during our long and freezing cold stay in Canada that I almost died via our tour van, a Dodge Sprinter, a car I still cannot see without breaking into hives, thinking that at some moment, any moment, someone is going to wake me up at 5 am while I’m sleeping soundly in an unsanitary and scratchy bed at a Super 8 motel and tell me to start unloading the set into a middle school gymatorium. Good thing there’s a Dodge Sprinter that delivers flowers to the funeral home on the corner of my street and whenever I see it pull up, I’m all, OH MY GOD MY MICROPHONE STOPPED WORKING AND MY COSTUME DOESN’T FIT AND WHY AM I JUMPING AROUND IN FRONT OF 4th GRADERS AT 8:30 IN THE MORNING HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!
It might also be because my life flashed before my eyes, right in front of that damn Dodge Sprinter.
We had stopped at the Beer Store. I do not know why. I’m assuming for beer but I really do not remember. It might have been to ask for directions. WHO KNOWS. It was cold outside and the van collectively decided that I should go run in and buy beer/ask for directions/both. Not a problem. Easy peasy.
I jumped out of the passenger seat and in hindsight, probably should’ve crossed BEHIND the van. But I suppose I was thinking that Candy, who was driving, would want to know that I crossed safely in front, kind of like Ingrid, your friendly neighborhood bus driver. Little did I know that Candy was distracted, talking to Melissa in the backseat and wasn’t going to stop and wait for me there, she was going to pull into a parking space so she pressed her foot on the gas.
What basically happened was something out of that movie Home Alone when Joe Pesci almost runs Macaulay Culkin over and he’s SCREAMING AND SCREAMING until he’s face to face with the hood ornament. Except it sort of happened in slow motion and without the snow and the feeling of Christmas warmth. I started screaming and backing away from the van and Candy was screaming and STILL PRESSING DOWN ON THE GAS (WTF?) so it felt like I was running away from the Dodge Sprinter of Death and the Dodge Sprinter of Death was COMING AFTER ME WHETHER I LIKED IT OR NOT.
I illustrated it in Paint in case you had any questions about how that moment looked. (Click to enlarge image.)
This is what I saw, from my point of view:
This is what the girls saw, sitting inside the van:
By the grace of God or Candy coming to her senses, the Dodge Sprinter of Death finally braked and I was spared a grisly experience known as Death by Intestines Getting Crushed Under the Wheel of a Van Carrying Children’s Theatre Set Pieces.
This came to mind recently as I almost hit a pedestrian while driving in Washington Heights. My windshield was fogged up and it was dark and he was attempting to cross the street and I saw him just in time. In my imagination, he felt just as I felt, coming within an inch of meeting Jesus Christ who is seated at the right hand of the Father. I suspected he felt relief. Maybe started hysterically laughing/crying at the same time. He probably felt gratitude at the chance to still live a few more hours, days, years.
In actuality, he barely noticed. And when he finally looked up and saw how hard I braked, he gave me the finger.
I suppose we all express our very complicated feelings of life and death differently.
And that’s okay.
It would just be fine if I never in my life saw a Dodge Sprinter again.
And the fact that the Dodge Sprinter on my street pulls up in front of a FUNERAL HOME almost daily, right in full view of my apartment?
That haunting reminder is not lost on me. OH, NO IT IS NOT. Don’t think for a second I’m missing that macabre warning that I am indeed mortal and that sooner or later, my time will come.
I just really really hope it doesn’t happen under the tires of an American-made ten million pound vehicle driving around a Canadian Beer Store parking lot, at the mercy of an actress who wasn’t aware that she was pressing down on the brake for about 20 seconds too long. NEXT TIME, SOMEONE ELSE CAN RUN IN AND ASK FOR DIRECTIONS, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
Oh, my God, the CFA student lounge Heimlich maneuver incident. Boy, did that memory come rushing back while reading your words. I remember you sitting at the table eating. I remember drifting off to sleep on the coach, as I often did in that room. I remember someone frantically calling my name. I remember waking and attempting - in that weird half-asleep/half-awake moment - to comprehend what I was seeing.
There you are, on your feet, panic on your face, your hands fluttering in the vicinity of your throat. I think it was Steve S. shouting my name. There is the really tall pale freshman kid (whose name I also cannot remember). You turn your back to him and he successfully gives you the Heimlich maneuver and then you’re in my arms sobbing. If it had taken you forever to calm down I would have held you forever. In a few moments you were fine. I don’t remember anything else that happened that day. I now think the whole thing was a ruse so you could surreptitiously smell my armpit.
You know the synchronicities thing? I’m baking chicken right now. Walking back from the supermarket with the chicken today I almost got hit by a car. The walk signal said walk, so I did, and this car came barreling around the corner and screeched to a halt six feet from me. I just looked at the guy through the windshield. I actually stopped right where I was in the middle of the street and just looked at him. He looked at me sheepishly and I continued on my way. Now I’m at home and about to eat my chicken. Carefully.
I literally laughed out loud at those pictures. There is so much that’s hilarious about them, but it was the “trying to kill me, don’t know why” caption that did it. Also the visual of the four of you screaming simultaneously. The idea of the driver having her foot on the gas and screaming is hilarious. I’m so glad you didn’t get squished.
I remembered writing about the Heimlich maneuver incident in my livejournal, so I went looking for it. Here it is.
So I guess Steve wasn’t there at all. I think the tall pale freshman kid is Rob Hinds. He must have been the one who shouted my name and woke me up. That was over five years ago. Wow.
So do you have horror stories from the border crossing, too? Did you take the bridge or the tunnel? I go across pretty frequently for various and mostly nerdy reasons, and usually about every other time, I am stopped, asked to exit my car, and then searched. Whenever that doesn’t happen, the customs guys are just sarcastic assholes. But only on the U.S. side. The Canadians are always sweet as can be.
scary, and yet so funny, I Love the 666 on the headlights!
Ok so ALL of this was outrageous and hilarious and death-defying, but my favorite part (as shared by Tim, of post-heimlich-comforting fame)were the illustrations. More specifically, “Me, Obvi”.
You’re a genius, and I’m glad you’re alive solely so that someday soon we can hang out and create comic catastrophes.
Andrea - You are correct. The Canadians are always awesome. The U.S. dudes - NOT SO MUCH. I believe we crossed the bridge, I do not know. But we had a HORRIFIC TIME and almost got arrested. There was something wrong with the papers or the vans or something that was not permissible? I do not recall but it was awful. We had to drive off to a special immigration place and we waited FOREVER and then there was that part where they were like WE MIGHT HAVE TO THROW YOU IN JAIL, etc.
When I was living in Buffalo and often crossing into Canada through the Niagara Falls side, I rarely had an issue. They grilled us occasionally with stupid questions but most of the time let us pass without a hassle. Tom’s family got pulled over and his siblings were questioned in a secret room to see if Tom’s parents were really their parents. NO LIE. OMG.