Boom!

Phebe and I were coming back from Ocean College. It had been a hectic day where we spent most of our time getting things ready to turn in for the last time. Tired, groggy, cranky--we did the job of 7 people for a bitch who talks about as much smack as I do.

We were in the taxi on the way way. We told the driver we wanted to go to the West Gate of the school (西门）, and he replied "西门儿，是吗？"

Hold the phone??　 This dude is from the North.

Now, Phebe and I have both studied in Beijing, and we have both gotten accustomed to the way they talk, which is like a bunch of pirates. Southern China : Snakes :: Northern China : Pirates. It's as simple as that, and most people have an affinity towards one or the other. We like the North (and so should you!).

So, homeboy taxi driver is CLOWNIN' the accent down here, and he tells us how we're all standard-speaking and correct and we're just laughing and carrying on--it's like hearing a relative or someone you're close to on the phone after a long absense...

EEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR~! SCRAP!

It finally happened. We got in an accident in a Chinese taxi.

Anyone who has ridden in a Chinese taxi knows how insane it is--gear shifting, ducking in and out of lanes that aren't respected, speeding up and slowing down, going down the wrong side--asbolute craziness! However, I had NEVER seen an accident happen, just the aftermath, so I was fooled into believing that if you buckle up, trust the driver, and text instead of looking at the road you'll be ok.

I was wrong.

I looked at Phebe. She looked at me. I asked if she was all right. She had banged her knee. I thanked the Lord.

Then we laughed.

(Funny thing--on the way to the school to drop off the materials, I had talked about the accident I saw the night before, and Phebe mentioned the one we saw in Quanzhou that was pretty bad. Then we said--"Well, we'll never get in one!" Lies~!)

We didn't have to pay for the taxi.