So is the 8th the new 13th? Or did I do something karmically terrible of which I’m currently oblivious? Or is it that I was being punished for waking up with a head full of negative and preoccupied musings?
Either way, something kind of weird happened on my way to work today. A bolt fell on me. Well, on my car. On the windshield. The bolt came from the Highway 99 Viaduct. It didn’t even crack the glass, which really shocked me given how loud and hard it smacked (I yelped and kind of swerved, luckily not causing any scary traffic problems).
But on the flipside of this anti-serendipity, I happened to have a lunch date with the perfect person to whom I could relate this tale: my mom. She’s a transportation planner who used to work for Metro and the City of SeaTac and who know works for the Oregon Department of Transportation, and she of course directed me to a good person to write to about this.
But I also received a suggestion to write a letter to an editor or five, and I think I’m gonna do it. Because I-5 has too much damn traffic during the rush hour, and I don’t wanna have to alter my commute because of falling bolts, or anything else that might land on me and make me swerve. Screw you, Viaduct. I’m getting you replaced, that’ll teach you to throw shit at me.