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My Near Death Experience – Just Another Statistic

August 10, 2011

Photograph by Carlos Gutierrez/UPI/Landov

As we are nearing our debut at the PGA Expo in Las Vegas, I was packing up a few boxes to be shipped prior to our arrival last week. I anticipated the lugging, lifting and taping that this chore would involve, but I didn’t anticipate the three near death experiences that would leave me thanking God to be alive and grabbing a glass of Chardonnay.

We had a myriad of random items that needed to be shipped including a bistro table, wrench, hangers, a putting game, the list goes on. As I leave Wal-Mart where I picked up a few last-minute items and drove to Spinner’s house to pick up the majority of items to pack, I notice the sky has turned a weird green hue with the humidity level near that of a sauna. The clouds dipped and swirled like cotton candy and I thought I could touch them. On my drive to Spinner’s house, the storms begin officially introduced by the Emergency Warning System that interrupted my “Moves Like Jagger” song I was jamming to  on the radio with BEEP…BEEP…BEEEEEEEEEEP.

I pull into Spinner’s drive-way just as the down pour begins – the perfect time to load up my car. Spinner’s husband was helping me while she was out for the evening. All seemed to be going well until he handed me the wardrobe box’s metal cross-bar – in a LIGHTNING STORM, with a chuckle that this had potential to be a bad idea. Anyone that knows me, knows that unfortunately I have fallen in that 1% category of terrible things happening way too many times and I was sure this was going on the list. Luckily, we dodged that electric bullet.

I then had to transport my car filled with the items and several boxes to JD’s house where the shipper’s were scheduled to pick-up our shipment. As I am driving in one of the worst storms I have driven in down Barrington Road, I am white-knuckle driving pushing against the 80 mile an hour winds and can only see 30 feet ahead through the monsoon like rains. Again, as the sky is now permanently lit up by the continuous lighting, it resembles the middle of day instead of 10:00 in the evening. As I hang a right and proceed down a tree-lined street with enormous beautiful trees that now represent life-threatening danger, I notice that they are bending with the ease of a gold medalist gymnast and pray these huge trees don’t collapse on my car.

Finally, I arrive at my destination at JD’s house. Earlier, I texted JD who was on vacation, but her husband was home, and asked if she informed him that I was coming over to assemble the boxes and leave them  in her mud room. I didn’t hear back from her, so I proceeded with her instructions to enter through the garage with the code she provided. I would have perhaps gone to the front door to announce my arrival, but the storm was SO bad that:  A.) I would have had to crawl against the wind B.) I would have been soaked to the bone and gotten JD’s house wet, and  C.) I would have probably been killed with a lightning strike anyway.

I have now entered the garage at 10:00pm and knock on the laundry room door loudly so her husband knows that I am here and going to enter the house. I knock a few times as I am sure it is hard to hear me through the storm. I wait in a dark garage and am so scared that this is how most of the stories you hear about on the news begin. Right about now, I really am thinking a bullet proof vest would be handy. The statistic that most people who are killed by guns are killed by people they know won’t leave my head. Since her husband didn’t come to the door, I decide to enter another door where I am instructed to leave the boxes. I cautiously and slowly open the door yelling her husband’s name, envisioning either the police arresting me, giving him a heart attack or on the wrong end of a self-defense case. By the look on his face, I don’t think the message of my arrival made it to him. I can only imagine what he was thinking as someone is coming through a locked door during a horrific storm. Hopefully by now, his heart rate has returned to normal although mine has not, but at least I am still alive!

Photograph by Carlos Gutierrez/UPI/Landov

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