Of course he was familiar with Murphy’s Law: ‘If anything can go wrong, it will.’ And its corollary, ‘If something can go wrong in multiple ways, it will go wrong in the worst possible way.’ Brett found these thoughts unsettling as he ruefully surveyed his crumpled car. Both Murphy’s law and its corollary seemed to have played out this morning.
He was rushing, late leaving for a meeting, and as he started the car the garage roller-door was just beginning its upward transit to let him out. It seemed so slow this morning. He revved the motor, waiting impatiently for a sufficient gap to allow him to reverse out.
Now—go! The squeal of the tyres was followed immediately by a thunderous crash. He’d misjudged how far the door had rolled up: it had shattered the car’s rear window, had deflected to deliver deep scores to the roof and was by now struggling, as if mortally wounded, to its maximally open position. Brett, instantly aware of what had happened, slumped in frustration and fury against the steering wheel, thumping it with his fist. His foot followed suit, as if in sympathy with his fist, driving the accelerator to the floor. The tyres squealed again but this time there was no obstruction; the car surged out, failed to take the bend in the driveway and bounded half-way over the retaining wall before it came to rest. It teetered unsteadily, its rear wheels suspended, still spinning, over the manicured lawn beyond the wall.
Brett, by now deep in shock, all thoughts of his meeting banished, slowly took in this ‘bugger’ moment. He eased open the driver’s door, which seemed oddly reluctant to move, and gingerly stepped out onto the top of the wall to survey the damage and consider his options. But Murphy had not yet delivered his coup de grace. With Brett’s weight out of the front seat the car slowly tilted back and as Brett watched, transfixed, gracefully embedded its rear end into the turf, wheels still turning slowly as they furrowed the grass.
The morning had not begun well.
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Burnside Writers Group 