There Is Justice After All

Several years ago, my wife and I took a trip over Labor Day weekend to historic Charlottesville Virginia to visit Monticello, the home of our third president, Thomas Jefferson (being the avid historian that I am, our family vacations typically involve some historic theme). The house was fascinating; I would recommend that everyone add this destination to their bucket list.

However, Monticello is not the topic of this blog. The Sunday morning parade is.

We spent Saturday night in a hotel located on a strip of generica on the main highway at the edge of town. The view from our second floor balcony was the parking lot of a Home Depot, and to the right was a six lane highway almost choking with retail sprawl; convenient stores, strip malls, Asian buffets, bistros, gas stations, and the like. Below our window a service road passed between the hotel and the HD parking lot and connected with the main strip at a traffic light. Our plan for that Sunday morning was to sleep late and make a leisurely return trip to Louisville to pick up our son, Primogenitor, from the grandparents who were babysitting (our second born was not yet our second born).

Our plans on a leisurely morning began to fall apart about 7:00 that Sunday morning when we were awakened by the sound of sirens. Not just a siren; no literally dozens and dozens of sirens. I hopped out of bed in alarm, pulled on a pair of jeans, and raced to the balcony to see what kind of emergency was happening.

But there wasn’t any emergency; there were emergency vehicles. Every emergency vehicle in Albemarle County must have been parked in the HD parking lot; police cars, sheriff’s cars, fire trucks, ambulances, heavy rescue trucks, game wardens, fire wardens, constables, deputies. I even saw a police SUV with a police boat on a trailer behind. Every one of them had their lights flashing insanely, and every one of them had their damn sirens blaring.

Did I mention that this was 7:00 on a Sunday morning of a holiday weekend?

Needless to say I was feeling less than charitable toward the local emergency service agencies. While I stood there on the balcony amazed and fuming with indignation, the host began to stream in single file out of the parking lot onto the service road, sirens still blaring, up to the traffic light before turning right and disappearing. I’m sure it took over ten minutes for the lot to disgorge this caravan of racket, and it was another ten minutes before the noise faded in the distance.

I returned to bed to try to get a bit more sleep, but this proved fruitless. Within ten minutes we could hear the cacophony making a return. Again I pounced out of bed, jumped into my jeans, and stormed furiously out to the balcony. Apparently this entire exercise was part of a Labor Day parade or celebration, and after disturbing the more remote neighborhoods of Charlottesville it was making a return trip to annoy bystanders closer to downtown. Again I stood on the balcony fuming in a helpless rage while watching the screaming tumult pass by on the main drag.

Before long I noticed that the column began to slow down a bit. The head of the parade must have been either slowed by narrower congested streets. The progress continued to slow until cars were moving at a crawl, and then stopped entirely (but still with lights flashing and sirens wailing). I noticed that the cars toward the back had apparently been trying to catch up, and one had to pull up short. The next car had to slow and stop even more precipitously. Behind this car there was a considerable gap in the column, and I noticed about a hundred yards back a sheriff’s deputy moving along at a quick pace to close up. As he approached the stop light where the parade had stalled, I thought for a moment that he must be in the far right lane and intending to pass the stopped traffic. I was wrong.

BOOM! CRASH! The deputy hit the car in front of him without so much as a whisper on the breaks. He must have been going about 35 mph, and the resulting crash was so violent that his airbag deployed and he launched the car he hit into the rear of the next car in line. All three police cars were totaled.

I immediately threw my arms up and cheered with glee. I danced and jumped about the tiny balcony, giggling and shouting with joy. There is justice after all. When just a moment before I had been glowering with resentment, now my mood had improved in an instant of distracted driving. It was only 8:00 in the morning, but I already had my favorite moment of the day. My wife and I laughed about this for the balance of that Sunday, all through the five hours it took to drive back to Louisville.

My only regret was that in those few moments of joyous transport after the wreck, I did not have the presence of mind to call 911.