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03/18/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

Three’s a crowd

Yesterday being Saint Patrick’s Day I put on my green “Murphy” long-sleeve Tshirt in honor of the occasion. Off to work I went, priding myself on how efficiently I got my morning started. I printed some papers for work, packed a little bag full of my erroneous 2024 tax return, (there’s a huge shredder dumpster in the office), got my steps in, and fired up the Prius. It was earlier than my usual departure time, which also pleased me.

I forgot about the place of the sun just over the horizon at that hour. As soon as I merged left across four lanes of Highway 40 I was reminded that the brilliant orb of the sun was positioned perfectly in the middle of my windshield. When the sun is that bright, at that particular place in the sky, there are big pockets of sun-blind driving when heading East. Even putting the visor down doesn’t hide enough to make any difference. So I carefully drove along, paying attention to the brake lights of cars ahead of me.

There wasn’t much of interest on NPR at that time, so I really concentrated on stopping and starting in the morning traffic. Traffic eased a little as we approached Big Bend and we all picked up speed. Unfortunately we were headed right into an almost completely blind spot. Cars in front of me slammed on their brakes. I was fast approaching the car in front of me, but was able to stop just inches from its bumper. 

What happened next occurred in a split second. I looked in the rear view mirror to see a black sedan fast approaching, causing me to utter some unhelpful cursing. It was going at such a speed that I instinctively knew we were meant to collide. The car hit me with enough force to send the front of my car under the bumper of the car in front of me. 

There I was, taking a minute to breathe deeply a few times. Into the glove compartment I went, in search of my insurance information. Then a young woman was at my window, asking if I was OK. I got out of the car as quickly as I could and assured her I was fine. Then we went to the car in front of me, where there was a young woman dressed in scrubs, telling us she was OK. 

Here we were, pulled as far off the left lane as we could get. It was cold out, maybe 35 degrees or so. I asked the woman in scrubs if she was on her way to work. Yes, she is a nurse at Big Barnes. That prompted the other young woman to say she works labor and delivery at Missouri Baptist and was on her way home after working a night shift. Of course I had to tell them that I, too, belong in the sorority of nurses. What are the chances that three nurses would meet in this unfortunate way?

Like the good nurses we are, we kept asking each other, “Are you sure you’re alright?”. And the nurse from Missouri Baptist was apologizing profusely – “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry!”. The nurse in front of me noted that I had been able to stop just in time not to hit her, but when nurse #3 plowed into my rear bumper, my front end wound up tucked under her rear bumper. 

We were each making phone calls to police and family. Pretty soon three Richmond Heights patrol SUV’s parked in positions to protect us from the bumper to bumper traffic. Each officer took one of us aside to get our information and review our driver’s license and insurance information. Before long, nurse #1 declared that her car was mostly fine and she needed to get to work. Off she went with a loud “POP” as she pulled away from my front end.

A tow truck magically materialized and loaded my badly-damaged-at-both-ends Prius, and nurse #3’s front-end-mangled car. One of the nice officers said he would give us a ride to the police station. I loved getting into the back seat of his SUV. Note to self, the back seats are made of plastic for ease of clean up, I presume. Right in front of me was an impressive looking rifle, and the window next to me was secured with bars. This was my first time riding in the back of a police car and I quite enjoyed it. The officer told me that people think it’s cool to ride in the back seat until they are the ones riding in it. 

By this time, nurse #3 and I were exchanging information and becoming friends. I reminded her that being a nurse is like being in the mafia – you know too much, so you can never leave. We spent the rest of the day texting back and forth.

Well, what the hell. Happy Saint Patrick’s day, and thank Goddess for looking out for us.