Arizona drivers have a reputation for being, well, crazy.
I, for one, have been caught in a grueling two-mile stretch of bumper-to-bumper traffic only to realize that the root of the cause is a five-car pileup sprawling across the freeway in all its crushed-fiberglass glory more times than I can count.
I have been there. I have paid my dues going 10 miles per hour in the bottleneck traffic that passersby have to endure. I have also made my debut on the side of the street as a participant in the accident, dazedly scratching my head as I filled out the police report.
There have been occasions when the accident occurred as a result of my actions, and there have been times more recently when I have been the hapless victim of another's less-than-stellar road performance.
In fact, I am currently embroiled in a bitter battle to the death with a young lady who, like a demon in the night, savagely hit my driver's side door going 180 miles an hour while I was gracefully turning left in to my carport.
While the above statement is obviously a gross exaggeration and not to be taken seriously by people who have lawyers and are not afraid to use them; what is true is, a few days later, my jaw dropped when her insurance lady told me she didn't think it was her fault.
The hypothesis that I have reached time and time again when trying to fathom why God has to be so cruel as to allow car accidents to occur, is basically that, "It happens."
It happens in Arizona especially because, as we all know, if you live here for more than five years, your brain cells begin to fry from the extreme closeness of the penetrating solar rays.
Although car accidents may be unavoidable, there is something we, as Arizona citizens, and of course as good Americans, can do to make things right spiritually as well as here on Earth, and that is admit when we are at fault. We must admit when we were the ones sleeping behind the wheel and do everything in our power to make things right again.
People, I can honestly say I do this. In fact, I have done this on a few occasions.
There was a time long, long ago when a friend and I were on our way home from work. I was driving. We were laughing and carrying on as young amoebas new to the thrill of driving are wont to do, when BAM!
My very first case of whiplash set in as I rear-ended the car in front of me with such force that it set off a chain reaction that would be felt by the next three cars ahead, as they all subsequently rear-ended one another as a result.
In my defense, it was very rainy, very dark, and yes, the streets were slick as fool's gold. Thankfully, everyone emerged unscathed, except for one girl who claimed she had an injured thumb. But she turned out to be a liar.
I readily admitted it was my fault, I didn't try to blame it on the weather or the street that hadn't been repaved in about 10 years; I just accepted the blame like a woman and moved on.
Such is my duty as an honest American, and I accept. If we Arizonans are going to hang our hats in the same place where the wild drivers come home to roost, the rightful admittance of fault is a code of conduct we are going to have to accept. Stay here long enough and you will one day be the crazy one. All should take heed.
Nicole Girard is a journalism graduate student. She can be reached at nicole.girard@asu.edu.
