I Was Not Cut Out to Be a Lot Boy

When I was a senior in high school, I worked as a lot boy at Len Dailey Chevrolet, a Chevy dealership in Ojai, California. Basically, I did grounds maintenance and washed cars.

One day the boss needed to have a Camaro delivered to a dealer in Lompoc and bring back a Monza. Hardly a fair trade, in my opinion.

The boss gave me a map, scribbled on a piece of notebook paper. As I approached the dividing of highway 33 from 150, I decided to take Casitas pass road and cut 15-20 minutes off my drive.

I kept it under the speed limit, 55 at the time, and even obeyed the caution signs. As I went into a major curve to the left, I let off the gas and glanced at the speedometer, noting that I was going about 45 mph. Even though, I let off the gas, it seemed that I sped up as I entered the curve, as a result of the centrifugal force. I felt and heard the sound of the right-side tires running on the dirt of a minimal shoulder, but was frozen, as I then continued up the side of the hill, then jerked the wheel to the left, but over corrected.

Still frozen, I hit a berm on the opposite side of the road, which lifted the front up so that all I saw was blue; then green, then black. It happened very quickly. I doubt that I had the time to say one Mississippi.

Coming out of the black, I was lying on the ceiling of the car, which was still running, so I turned it off. The driver side window was gone, having been crushed to about six inches clearance. The passenger side window had not been crushed, though the glass was gone, so I climbed out and crawled up to the road.

I guy on a motorcycle come by, so I told him what happened and asked for a ride to the ranger station. The first thing he did was look over my left shoulder and ask if I was alright, to which I replied, fine. I hopped on but as we started to go, I saw the ranger’s truck coming in our directions, so I tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. He stopped and let me off.

The ranger stopped and got out of the truck. When he got close to me, he looked over my left shoulder and ask if I was alright, to which I replied, fine. After looking at the wreck, he went back to the truck and made a call with the radio to the have the CHP come to the scene.

When the CHP arrived, after he got out of his unit, the first thing he did was look over my left shoulder and ask if I was alright, to which I replied, fine. Then he asked me to unbutton my shirt, so he could look at my shoulder. I did so, and, after a few seconds, he said "okay".

Finally, Mr. Adamson came with his tow truck and delt with getting the brand-new Camaro with only 44 miles on the odometer, up the hill and on its wheels. On the way back to the dealership he kept calling me AJ Foyt, a famous race car driver. But I told him the whole story and that I had not been speeding.

Everybody who saw the car and me said I was dead.

I went to the ER but was ignored since I seemed to be alright, and they had other people with more problems.

When I got home, I took off the shirt and saw what everyone saw that precipitated the look over my left shoulder and the question about my condition. There was a dried spot of blood running from the base of my neck about 6 inches toward my shoulder, about 3 inches wide.

I checked using a mirror and had my family members check to see if I had some wound, but there was none.

It turns out that my mother, who was volunteering at the local thrift store and felt the need to pray for me right about the time I went off the road.

There is either a God, who came to earth as the guy named Jesus, who my mother prayed to, or my mother has powerful magic.

A couple of months later, I was fired; the boss said I was not cut out to be a lot boy.

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