Every year, Deserae and I try to take a short out-of-town trip to celebrate our anniversary. Two years ago, I planned the best one ever: a weekend at an awesome cabin in Hocking Hills. There would be sweet hikes, hot dogs over the fire, millions of stars, rock climbing – it was going to be the best.

The weekend finally arrived, and after Deserae finished packing with five jackets (tomorrow night is supposed to be kind of cool), enough marshmallows to insulate our cabin (you like s’mores, right?) and everything else we own (just in case!), we were off.

I was so pumped that I was even able to tune out Deserae’s obnoxious talking GPS for the first few hours. But sometime around Columbus, it started to get on my nerves.

“Continue straight for 500 feet”

“Why is this thing on?”

“Slight right to stay on I-71 South”

“So we know how to get there.”

“Continue straight”

“It’s been reminding us to stay on 71 for the last two hours.”

“Continue straight”

“You can turn it off if you know what to do.”

“Slight left to stay on I-71 South”

“No, I’ll leave it on.”

[Five seconds later] “Slight…”

[Click]

“Never mind, this thing could not be worse.”

1.5 Hours Later

When I finally admitted I was lost, we pulled into a gas station and turned the GPS back on.

“Rerouting. Time to destination: 1 hour, 35 minutes.”

Fun fact: Our time to destination when I had turned off the GPS was also an hour and a half. Deserae glared.

I studied the GPS. Apparently, a slight right in Columbus would have led us to the correct highway.

“Can you leave the GPS on this time?”

“Yes, I can leave the GPS on this time.”

“Should you ask for directions in the gas station just to make sure?”

“No, we just take this little road all the way in. We’ll be fine.”

Pause.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“We’ll be driving in the right direction, so it can’t really get any worse.”

7 Seconds Later

SMASH!

In my haste to prove everything was fine, I slammed the car into reverse, stomped on the gas and promptly smashed into the side of an SUV.                                                        

We got out to survey the damage. Surprisingly, Deserae’s jellybean of a car came out pretty OK. The SUV, on the other hand, looked like it had been hit by a tank. After exchanging insurances with the other driver, we sat back in the car and took a second to breathe.

“At least it can’t get any worse.”

10 Minutes Later

Flashing lights popped up behind us on the empty two-late farm road. I looked at my speedometer and pulled over. As upset as I should have been, I remained calm because I had a secret weapon: Deserae’s dad.

Deserae’s dad is a police officer, which means I have a decent chance of getting out of speeding tickets. I don’t completely understand how it works, but you know how in that board game Life you never have to pay a fine for speeding when you spin a 10 if you’ve chosen “Police Officer” for your occupation? It’s like that. Police officers have these special “courtesy cards” that they give to family members that almost always earns a pass during speeding stops.

A female state trooper approached the car. “License and registration please.”

I gave her my license with the card on top. She immediately returned the card and marched back to her cruiser. Five minutes later, she returned with a piece of paper.

“I clocked you going 55 in a 40,” she said.

“I’m really sorry,” I replied. “I’ve never driven around here before. We’re on a trip for our anniversary, then we got lost and we’re just trying to figure out how to get there.”

“Uh huh. You have 30 days to pay the ticket. The information to appeal it is on the back.”

We were both dumbfounded. Deserae piped up. “You can’t extend a courtesy because of the card?”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. The officer leaned in and squinted at Deserae. “What do you want me to do, not give you a ticket?”

We both shrugged.

She got meaner. “Let me tell you something – I don’t care WHO your family is.”

With that, she turned and walked away in a huff as I shrunk in my seat and stared at my $200 ticket.

“OK, NOW it can’t get any worse.”

1 Year Later

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Mr. Brady?”

“Yes?”

“This is Amy from Harleysville Insurance. I’m sorry to tell you that effective this September, we’re no longer going to be able to cover you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Our records indicate that you are a high-risk driver.”

“What?”

“It looks like you’ve had a few incidents, including several in August of last year.”

“Yeah. They happened ten minutes apart.”

“Oh wow, bad trip.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the worst.”

I thought so too.

LIFE LESSON #30

It can ALWAYS get worse.