I’ve been in love with physics ever since I had “Doc John” Kolena as a professor at the School of Science and Math, and I even enjoy all the quantum stuff I took in college, but it is rare that I get to consciously practice physics in my every day life. For example, if a Ford F150 pickup with a big V8 engine smacks into the back of an older Toyota Corolla it is amazing how little this affects the truck. The Corolla, on the other hand, will shoot out into an intersection like a hockey puck.

But I’m getting ahead of the story.

I’m off for two weeks in Europe starting Saturday night. One week in England, then a long weekend in Italy, before returning to the UK to finish out the trip. The trip is possible, in part, because a friend of mine from Science and Math, Nancy Proctor, live in a flat in London with her husband Titus. They are generous enough to let friends use it when they aren’t around (which seems to be often). I’m going to be staying there for a few nights on this trip, and so I had to drive to Chapel Hill to get the keys from another friend of theirs named David Sutton.

David runs a hair salon and apparently he goes to London every other month or so to cut hair there. He had just got back from one such trip and hence had the keys to Nancy’s flat.

I had a dentist appointment in Chapel Hill yesterday so I decided get the keys, and then run by A Southern Season to get some gifts for people I’ll see on my trip. It was a beautiful day and I was in a great mood, and I was running about 30 minutes early for my dentist appointment.

I was on South Estes Drive getting ready to turn right onto Fordham road. A little red Corolla was in front of me, and I saw him move up like he was making a right turn on red. I looked to the left to see if the way was clear for me to go, and since it was I hit the gas.

Unfortunately, the red car hadn’t turned.

The big engine in that truck can go from zero to smash in like 3 feet, and I hit the car squarely across the trunk. It was surreal – it was like I was floating outside of myself going “did I just do that?”.

The driver, Lynn, was pretty cool about the whole thing. He was from Clyde, North Carolina, which is up in the mountains, and he had come to town to take care of some divorce paperwork. The car is registered to his, soon to be, ex-wife, so maybe that’s why he was so laid back. So we waited for the cops to show up while David, Lynn’s passenger, read a two-year-old TV Guide that the crash had dislodged from its hiding place under the seat.

I was only 10 minutes late for my appointment.

The weird part about the whole thing is that while I’m certain the accident was caused by the whole “right turn on red” thing, part of me remembers that maybe, just maybe, the light changed green and I just decided to go. Must be getting senile in my old age.

The worst part is not the ruination of a great day, or the inconvenience to Lynn, or even the nice pink safety citation I got from the cops (apparently if you show up in court with a letter from you insurance company that the claim was taken care of it gets dismissed), but instead it is going to be living with Andrea for the next few years. She won’t let this one go, trust me. This morning she kissed me goodbye and said, “Try not to hit anyone today, dear”.