This morning, a truck crashed into a Connellsville house.
Man, what a crazy, uncommon thing!
I mean, this almost never happens. Like, a pickup didn't crash into a house just in September in Dunbar, sending the driver fleeing on foot.
I know it happened a few times, at least, over my childhood. I remember my grandfather driving me to school once and explaining to me that a house on the way there was all kinds of a mess because someone crashed into it.
As for other interesting crashes, there's also the recent Walmart crash. The driver drunkenly crashed into a steel storage unit then ran into the Wallie World store and barricaded himself in the bathroom. They'd never get him there!
My favorite, though, is probably the drunk driver who crashed into my elementary school playground late one night and took out our fence and some monkey bars. Always prepared for a teaching moment--except for when it came to teaching me math and science when I was clearly struggling, therefore leaving me disadvantaged basically ever since--the nuns cleverly turned the incident into a lesson about drunk driving. We even had an anti-drunk driving a poster contest. I was disadvantaged there, too, since I can't draw. Montessori had a way of flaunting my deficiencies. I'm a blogger for a reason, guys.
I hope those nuns screamed at the drunk driver when they found him with the same gusto they used to scream at me when my brain wouldn't absorb the information that wasn't adequately explained to me in the first place.