As I awaited the Dallas police on a swanky side street, I pondered a telling thought—was I more upset that I had just been the victim of a hit-and-run… or that by day 3, I was already about to fail my daily blog resolution. 

And then, it hit me (figuritvely, not just this uninsured Nissan with temporary plates): This is the exact brand of bullshit that’s unfortunately been part of my ~making~. 

The “Marianne” part of the incident happened as follows: 

POV, you just accidentally went the wrong way down a one-way and managed to escape life and dignity intact because no other car witnessed your failures. You’re lost. It’s dark. You’re coming off of 5 hours of sleep due to the previous night’s flight misfortunes. You’re hyped for bed. After 10 minutes of wandering, you finally know where you’re headed. Sleep is no longer a hypothetical.

And then, you have the flight-or-flight moment as a car continues to barrel down the street despite the red light blaring bright. There’s oncoming traffic. You’re at the front of the lane. You’re urging the light to turn green as you realize: this car isn’t stopping, and you’re about to get hit. 

No airbags go off; only my panicked screams. However, shortly after my horror kicks in, my social incompetence quickly follows. How does one go about saying, hey uh you barreled towards me at a red light. What’s up with that? And most importantly, do so with poise? 

You’re reading the wrong blog if you expect a good answer. My best version was,  “Hi, sir… Uh you hit my car.” I say this while he sits in a car still jammed against my fender.

As I look into the beat-up Nissan, I see a gaggle of little kids. He looks at me apologetically and says his brakes were broken, he’s uninsured, and has no money. I feel both my sympathy and social awkwardness swell as I look at the little girls playing with dolls in the backseat. 

Somehow, despite the fact that this man hit my car (and there was a free lane to my right smh) while driving uninsured, I sprinkle each of my distraught pleas to him with “I’m so sorry” and even a “my apologies” for some zest. 

However, in all my socially awkward dribble, was no true attempt to get contact information or any form of help. Instead, I just stood in the middle of the street mostly just gaping. 

What did I do with this guy now? He hit me. Despite my compulsive and excessive apologizing, a rear ending at a red light had a pretty clear faulty party. 

Time to phone a friend. However, as soon as my bumbling self left his side to call my dad in tears, this man with the broken brakes and car full of children drove off into the distance. 

I stood in the street behind the flashes of my emergency blinker as I struggled to process what had just transpired over the last five minutes.

I have no apologies for making my friends wear color coordinated outfits to my birthday parties, for spending $200 at the Gucci outlet on ridiculous yet fabulous pink sunglasses (the cost/wear was surprisingly there), or having Paris Hilton as my fourth most played artist on Spotify wrapped.

However, my social incompetence caused me to whip out the full Catholic Guilt Deluxe level of apologies… for a man who then sped off into the night, faulty brakes and all.