It was a quiet winter’s evening. The temperature had not risen much above zero, and the morning frost had hung heavy in trees and hedgerows all day. On my way home, I took the road through the forest. It was a long and straight road only used by locals and sales reps, looking for a fast shortcut.
I must admit, I was going quite fast, seventy-five, maybe eighty miles an hour, but hey, I drove over thirty thousand miles a year in my job, and anyway, I was in an Audi, so the rules don’t apply to me.
I smirked at that thought and reached down, momentarily, to turn up the radio to sang with the old Doobie Brothers song blaring from the speakers.
“Got those highway blues, can’t you hear my motor runnin’?
Flyin’ down the road with my foot on the floor
All the way in town they can hear me comin’
Ford’s about to drop, she won’t do no more…..”
That’s as far as I got. When I looked up, ahead in the road stood a deer. I slammed on my brakes, the car skidded on the frosty road, hit the curb, and then flipped over, and over, and over, and over. I think I counted seven, stopping only when the car wrapped itself round a tree. Somehow, I was thrown from the car, landing in a dazed heap about twenty feet down the road. I didn’t get up despite the cold. I’d seen enough ambulance documentaries my wife loves to watch to know you shouldn’t move until the paramedics came and gave you the once over. Anyway, it didn’t seem that cold. I was just dazed, disoriented, and my mind seemed it was in a fuzz, so probably best if I didn’t move. You must be sensible in these situations, better to be safe than sorry, I thought.
It wasn’t long before I heard the wail of sirens coming from both directions, an ambulance heading towards me one way and a fire engine coming towards the car. They had all their lights on, so what I didn’t expect was the ambulance to head straight for me. I was in the middle of the road, for crying out loud. Surely, they could see me.
At the last moment, I rolled over to the side of the road. If I hadn’t, he would have gone right over me. What an idiot.
I was going to have words, but I found I couldn’t move easily. I was giddy, still dazed, and things were not very clear.
I decided to sit up in the road. I knew, I shouldn’t do that, I might have a spinal injury, and that could be life-changing. But nothing was hurting, so I thought I’d give it a try. There, it was fine, no harm done.
The paramedics were both looking into the car, shaking their heads. Had they still not noticed there was no one in it? After another few minutes, the police arrived. I was glad I hadn’t had that second pint; they were bound to breathalyse me. I’ll be fine.
They’d closed the road in both directions, but still, they were ignoring me.
“That’s it,” I said to myself. “I’d better just get up and go and see them because they still hadn’t seen me.”
It was a struggle getting up, but once vertical, I seemed just fine.
“I reckon he must have been doing eighty down here, look at the skid marks,” one of the coppers said.
“Excuse me, I wasn’t doing anything over sixty if you don’t mind.”
He totally ignored me, so that was their game because they thought I’d been a naughty boy, they were just going to pretend I wasn’t there
I walked over to the car to have a look.
Oh, my goodness, there’s someone inside. How did they get there?
I looked at the car.
“Phew, that’s not mine, mine is much longer than that, and it’s a completely different shape to mine, same colour though,” I said to no one in particular. “Excuse me, have you seen my car? It must be around here somewhere.”
They didn’t answer, just stood there looking at the bloke in the car, shaking their heads.
“Bloody fool,” one of them said.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I answered.
It seemed like hours, but eventually, they cut him out of the car and put him in a body bag.
I knew it was morbid, disrespectful even, but I went over to have a look before they zipped it up.
I couldn’t make out much face. It was covered in blood.
“Stop!” I shouted, “I saw his lips move. He’s still alive.”
I bent to listen. He was singing, actually singing at a time like this.
“Oh, rockin’ down the highway
Oh, rockin’ down the highway
Oh, rockin’ down the highway
Oh, rockin’ down the highway.”
Wasn’t that what I was singing just before the crash?
The Presbyterian church called a meeting to decide what to do about their squirrel infestation. After much prayer and consideration, they concluded that the squirrels were predestined to be there, and they should not interfere with God’s divine will.
At the Baptist church, the squirrels had taken an interest in the baptistry. The deacons met and decided to put a water-slide on the baptistry and let the squirrels drown themselves. The squirrels liked the slide and, unfortunately, knew instinctively how to swim, so twice as many squirrels showed up the following week.
The Lutheran church decided that they were not in a position to harm any of God’s creatures. So, they humanely trapped their squirrels and set them free near the Baptist church. Two weeks later, the squirrels were back when the Baptists took down the water-slide.
The Episcopalians tried a much more unique path by setting out pans of whiskey around their church in an effort to kill the squirrels with alcohol poisoning. They sadly learned how much damage a band of drunk squirrels can do.
But the Catholic church came up with a more creative strategy! They baptized all the squirrels and made them members of the church. Now they only see them at Christmas and Easter.
Not much was heard from the Jewish synagogue. They took the first squirrel and circumcised him. They haven’t seen a squirrel since.
Prize fighter James Corbett was once asked: ‘What’s the most important thing for a man to do to become a champion?’ He replied, ‘Fight one more round.’ Successful people have different talents, but they all have these qualities: perseverance, tenacity, and stick-to-it-iveness (I know, made up word). Thomas Grey wrote seventy-five drafts of ‘Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard’ before he was satisfied with his poetic masterpiece. S.N. Behrman, the American playwright, wrote plays for eleven years before he sold a single one. End of Summer being possibly his most famous. J.K. Rowling’s first Harry Potter book was rejected by twelve different publishers before finally being accepted. Somerset Maugham earned only five hundred dollars in his first ten years as a writer. While working full time in a factory, Enrico Caruso the operatic singer studied voice for twelve years before becoming a successful performer. George Gershwin composed almost one hundred melodies before he sold his first one – for five dollars. There’s an important lesson for you in each of these stories: if your dream doesn’t come true immediately, don’t get discouraged. Continue to pursue your craft and develop your talent. Study and learn. Grow by experience. Keep working. Victory goes to the man or woman who is willing to ‘fight one more round’.
Post borrowed from The Twisting Tail. Murdochmouse.wordpress.com
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