It was a Tuesday morning, and I was driving myself to my internship at the Republican Party of San Diego County. It was my third week as an intern, and I was excited to see everyone, write more articles for our NewsDesk, and meet new interns. I had already been driving for about a year and a half without incident. I drove six days a week to swim practice in heavy traffic, 50 miles round trip, and I drove myself to school too. So I was comfortable behind the wheel singing along with the music on my radio, bobbing my head up and down with the rhythm of the beat, letting the engine of my Mini Cooper chime along. 

I loved that car. I don’t know if it was because it was my first car, or because of its charming features, but I had a strong attachment to it. My family and I bought car air fresheners, a sunscreen for the windshield, and floor mats to protect the carpet. We pampered the car as if it was our baby. 

When I pulled around the corner that day I decided to park on the hill next to my internship building like I always did. So I drove up the hill, reached the top, and made a sharp turn to come back down. As I began to drive back down I decided to park behind a gray truck. That is when everything went downhill.

Mini Coopers have a weird gas pedal that is attached to the floor with a hinge rather than floating above the floor of the car. So when I went down the hill, the floor mat slipped under the brake pedal and over the gas pedal. When I pressed the brakes to slow down, it also pressed the floor mat onto the gas pedal, shooting my car forwards into the back of the truck. The next thing I knew, the truck was flying over the embankment, down the side of the hill, and into a concrete picnic table behind the office of my internship. Meanwhile, I slammed down on my brakes again, but the car still did not oblige and sought out its next target - a red car that had been parked in front of the truck. My thoughts were drowned out by the pulses of my heart, leaving me with no choice but to act out impulsively; something I rarely ever did. Fortunately, I turned my wheel fast enough to only cause a slight dent to the side of the car. 

Now I was fighting my car down the hill! I repeatedly pressed on my brakes, hoping I would stop before reaching the main road. But down the hill I went, shooting viciously forwards then stopping, forwards then stopping. It looked as if the car was performing the Heimlich maneuver on me. When I got close to the main road I managed to turn into a side parking lot and stop there.

I walked up the hill and found a large crowd standing around the crash site. A rush of heat flooded into my cheeks as I tried to blink away the water that was filling my eyes. I saw my boss, colleagues, and strangers, all stare at me as if I was an unsolved puzzle. After explaining to them what had happened, we waited for my parents and the police to arrive. In the midst of all the silence, I had to achingly accept my license plate from my boss who had retrieved it from the ground. As I looked down at my license plate, it made me realize that the most trivial decisions, like putting a floor mat in my car, can lead to the most profound consequences. This taught me that it doesn’t matter how prepared you think you are; there is no telling what the future has in store for you.