The problem with car chase scenes in movies is they’re so unrealistic. All those narrow escapes and cars jumping over other cars, it just doesn’t happen that way. How do I know? I’ve actually been in one. No, really. Here’s how it all went down:
I was a Senior in high school and it was Senior Ditch Day. That should be pretty self-explanatory, but for my slower readers, here’s the gist: At lunchtime, we drove off campus and we didn’t come back.
Most of the cool kids took the day off to go drink wine coolers or play video games. My friends and I decided to go to the music store to get me a new trumpet stand. Yeah, I’ve been a dork since birth.
Oh, one more tidbit of information: I got into an accident in my MG earlier in the week. So for this trip, I was actually driving my dad’s car: a ’73 Toyota Corolla hatchback. Uh huh. I was stylin’.
Anyhow, I picked up the trumpet stand and I made my way home on the 405. The drive on the freeway went fine. But as soon as I turned off onto the Bolsa Chica offramp, things started getting a little hairy.
I noticed a large pick-up truck was following me a little too closely. So naturally, I tapped the brake pedal to flash my red lights at him. That probably wasn’t a good idea. Once we made our way around the curve and onto the four-lane street, we got into the far left lane. And Mr. Pick-up, he drove up right along side of us. Then he rolled down his window and pulled out. . . a crow bar. I kid you not. He reached his hand out and started swinging at my dad’s car.
What the fuck was I going to do? I was ten minutes away from home and I had a crazy guy trying to put a hole in my dad’s car. Fortunately for us, it seemed he was only trying to scare us. He yelled some obscenities and then moved into the center lane. We pulled into the left turn lane and I glanced at him. He was still yelling at me. So, of course, I gave him the finger — another bad idea.
I turned left and I glanced in my rearview mirror to see something I’ve never seen before: a pick-up truck making a left turn from the center lane. The motherfucker was after us. I hit the gas, and ten minutes later, the engine responded. Fucking piece of shit Toyota. Where the fuck was I going to go?
Our first thought: make him follow us to the police station. He’s not going to beat us to a pulp in front of a bunch of cops. But there was a problem with that: The police station was a good fifteen minutes or so away. And as soon as we hit the first red light, we realized we really couldn’t stop. That meant only one thing: make a right turn.
So we did just that. I turned right down this small street and then quickly turned left to cut through the McDonnell Douglas parking lot. This would’ve been a great getaway route, had I been driving my MG. But I was in the Corolla, and every time I took a sharp turn (and there were a lot of them), the car would literally hop its way around them. Needless to say, I wasn’t building up any distance between me and that truck. He was right on my tail.
Funny thing about being in a car chase: You don’t think too clearly. My entire body was shaking, especially my left leg, which was bouncing uncontrollably while I desperately tried to steer the rickety vehicle around the turns.
Anyhow, somehow we made it through that parking lot and we were soon turning right onto a major street. I’m not exactly sure how we made it over to the next major street. Maybe we saw a left turn light at just the right time. Maybe we cut through a residential street. I can’t remember. Like I said, you don’t think too clearly.
But eventually, we had to run into some traffic. And we did. That’s when Mr. PIckup got out of his truck and started making his way over to our car. My friend noticed the left turn light just turned green, so he yelled at me to pull into that lane. And I did, my body still full of adrenaline, I put the car in first and accelerated my way through the light.
As we turned into this residential street. There was only one thing on my mind: get to the other side. Don’t dilly daly. He could still come looking for us. That’s when I saw this sedan up ahead. It was just sitting there in street, not doing anything, like the driver was asleep or something.
“Go around it!” my friend shouted.
I turned the wheel and hit the accelerator. And before I could react, that previously motionless vehicle made a sudden left turn into their driveway. CRUNCH! I slammed right into the side the car. I couldn’t believe it. The chase was over.
Of course, this was my second accident in less than a week. So I was a little upset. Okay, I was banging on the roof of my car and maybe a few tears spilled out. I think there was just something in my eye.
The lady whose car I managed to sideswipe went into her house and called the cops to take down a report. Ten minutes later, the fuzz pulled up. We told them the entire story. And as we were telling it, we started to realize how incredibly preposterous it sounded.
Then he asked us one question that we’ll never be able to forget: Did you get a license plate number? And you know something, it never even crossed our minds. You’d think that’d be the first thing you’d think of. Guy’s chasing you with a crow bar, get a license plate number. But not one of us — and there were three of us in the car — even considered taking down the plate. Like I said, you don’t think too clearly when you’re in the middle of a car chase.
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