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I saw my first Amber Alert tonight, on I-4, as I drove home from the gym. It was for a 1995 dark green Buick, but beyond that, I can't remember the rest of the description. In my defense, they practically flashed the description on the sign and I barely had time to read it all before it changed back to the "CHILD ABDUCTION ALERT" intro. I saw the license plate number but there wasn't enough time for it to sink in. I read fast, so I can't imagine a slow reader would have caught any of it.
Dammit, that sicko is going to get away, and it's all my fault.
The interstate makes a good segue to another story from my trip to Miami:
We saw a horrific car crash on I-95, just north of downtown Miami. Well "saw" isn't the most appropriate word.
We were one car away from being in it.
There were about four or five lanes of traffic; we were in the middle. The car right in front of us, a beat-up, tan-colored hooptie, which was about two car lengths ahead, swerved suddenly into the lane to our right, then sharply swerved back, as if coffee had spilled in the driver's lap or something caught him/her off guard. Well the driver must have quickly turned the wheel back as far as it could go, overcorrecting, because the car started fishtailing.
The driver lost control of the car at that point, and it sideswiped a white, full-sized van in the lane to the right. The van of course turned to try to dodge, but the van then pinballed into a blue car to its right. It was blue car vs. full-sized van, and the blue car ricocheted off the van. It slammed into the concrete barrier wall, and the right-front side of the car crumpled, a la Dale Earnhardt.
I hoped to God that the driver of the blue car was OK. But we all were moving down the interstate at 60 mph when all this happened. I can't imagine the driver of the blue car got out alive.
Everything happened right in front of us. Our jaws dropped, and I started shaking. I don't know how on earth we didn't touch another car. We were powerless to do anything. My BF, who was driving, slowed smartly and gradually, taking care not to slam on the brakes. I know this sounds cliche, but it all seemed to move in slow motion. Like we were watching it on TV, and the windshield was the screen.
We kept moving down the interstate, somehow untouched, while a wall of cars backed up behind the accident in our rear-view mirror.
OMG, OMG, OMG, I said over and over. The BF wasn't saying anything. Visibly shaken, he was trying to concentrate on the road. I said, "I'm calling 911."
I don't think I'd ever called 911 before. For anything.
I called, and they patched me into the FHP. I wondered if they would make us turn around and go back to the scene of the accident, because we were just about the best witnesses they could hope for. I'm going to sound like a cold-hearted prick for saying this, but I hoped they didn't, because I had to meet my crew at the regatta site in an hour.
The FHP asked me where the accident was, what exit, and then said, "We're on our way." Click.
Whew. I felt like I did my part.
I wondered whether the driver of the car that hit the wall got out alive. I went online the next day and did a search, but I couldn't find anything on the accident.
I would mark that as No. 3 on my list of most frightening incidents in my life.
1 and 2 are:
Current mood: Creeped out
Correction: That was the first Amber Alert I've seen in Florida. I saw one on an interstate in the D.C. area late last year.