To hell with Tuesday and reversing

Parallel reversing proved too much on a chilly morning for this intrepid reporter: "Driver halt...that didn't sound good."

Parallel reversing proved too much on a chilly morning for this intrepid reporter: “Driver halt…that didn’t sound good.”

Monday night went on longer than anticipated and combined with the cold front recently arrived, I awoke after a fitful night’s sleep that took me back to yesteryear and uncomfortable memories  of sleeping on the back decks of my tank out on the freezing Canadian prairie.

Stumbling out of my apartment to rush off to do an interview for a story, I clearly wasn’t at my most cognisant and reversed the ‘stang into the side wall of my apartment (again, more Canada-related flashbacks: tanks bouncing into Warriors during the assault, trucks  careening off the snowy roads into muddy oblivion).

Pants.

Having got through the year motoring in the U.S. and avoiding being hit by everyone else–driving pertains to being somewhat of a contact sport here–it was mildly frustrating to be the instigator of my own scrape.

One order of fuck-wit status to go, please.

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