jesse kaellis en Lifestyle, beBee in English, Writers Bally's. Trop, Dunes, Caesars, Sahara. Landmark, Barbary, State Line, on and on. • 21 joints. I counted them again. 8/11/2016 · 2 min de lectura · +800

Sunday driver

The Capilano Suspension Bridge. Near the fish hatchery on Capilano Road, North Shore of Vancouver. 

Sunday driver

Sunday driver

In 1983 I met a lady at one of my EST seminars. I mean she knew me. But I was well known.
I was living in a one bedroom in East Van. This lady told me I could have room and board at her lovely house in North Vancouver for six hundred a month, which was kind of expensive at the time, but I liked the North Shore. The house had a pool -- whatever.

I was making real money. I was working a union job at a cemetery. This lady shall remain nameless. I can't remember her name. She lived there with her teenage daughter and young son. She was maybe in her early forties -- blond and a little overweight. An old guy was living in the basement her partner. They had been flipping houses and when the bubble burst they got stuck with the last place they speculated on and had to live in the house to carry the mortgage. The place was upside down. She needed my money.

Her partner was a hardcore alcoholic. I never saw too much of him. He would barricade himself inside his room and drink whiskey; and shit all over the toilet seat, which pissed me off. He lived in a bedroom next to mine in the basement. We shared the same bathroom

I was making decent money, but my credit was weak because I didn't have a credit history. So I was reduced to scraping enough money together to buy some old bomb and keep it on the road and then pay through the nose for repairs.

At that time I was driving a 1969 four-door Chevrolet Caprice. Power everything. Power seats, power windows, tilt steering. It was gold with a black hard top. It was a very nice car in its day. It had a big block V8.

The brakes weren't too good on this car. It was making these grinding noises. I took it into Canadian Tire. I told them, "Oil change and a tune up."

I come back, and all the wheels are off. I want to know how they got from the engine to the wheels. They tell me that, "There are some major problems with this car" but that it was a luxury car in its day and worth about five grand, which was big cake in 69.

They're telling me the brakes are shot. "It's on the rivets!" I say, "You better not get in front of me then. Put it back together."

Well, fuck them. Not too long afterward it's my day off. I'm headed somewhere, maybe to the gym. I smoke myself out because in those days I never came down. If I was awake, I was stoned. Unless God forbid, I run out in which case I'm jonesing. Pot is not supposed to be addictive, but.

I got a nice healthy buzz going on. I'm heading down the hill past the Fish Hatchery. Cap road. The Capilano suspension bridge is coming up. I see the crosswalk, which is flashing yellow.

Yellow. That means slow down. But no! It means it is a pedestrian controlled crosswalk. I'm supposed to stop! I tried. But I didn't make it. I plow into the back of a Datsun sports car stopped at the crosswalk, a little two-seater convertible. I was doing about 25 MPH or maybe less. Not that it mattered given that I was driving a full sized land yacht. 

No pedestrians got hurt. I pull off to the side, and so do my victims. A lady gets out from the passenger side and walks over to me. I'm sitting in my car, "You stupid idiot!"

Yeah, I was mortified. And to make it convenient there was a cop car pulled up at the crosswalk, opposite to me, going up the hill.

He wants to know what happened. I tried to explain. "Um, my brakes might not be too good." 

I got a ticket. Here is the brutal part. The lady I hit, the driver, she didn't need a collar, a neck brace, because she was already wearing one. She was just on her way home from Lions Gate Hospital, For neck surgery. 

Shortly afterward I sold the car to my coach. I told him that the brakes were no good, "It's on the rivets." "Well, does the car stop?" "Yeah." "Then the brakes are good."

He gave me a hundred bucks for it. I bought a motorcycle which I subsequently totaled by driving it into the back of a car. Air time! 

The people I rear-ended at the suspension bridge got 20 grand for loss of employment loss of enjoyment, which was not a bad chunk of change in the early eighties. My guess is that she would have rather not have had the experience for any money.

Do I squirm on this memory? Oh, yes! You bet.

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jesse kaellis 9/11/2016 · #20

Thanks, Tracy. Thanks, Luizia.

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jesse kaellis 9/11/2016 · #19

Thank you, Milos.

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jesse kaellis 9/11/2016 · #18

Thank you, Juan.

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jesse kaellis 8/11/2016 · #16

For the people who found my story relevant, thank you very much.

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jesse kaellis 8/11/2016 · #15

#13
That's okay, dear Maria. No worries.

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jesse kaellis 8/11/2016 · #14

#12
That's very generous, Pascal because I don't think those people I plowed into would forgive me. When I was still drinking, I drove on auto-pilot many, many times. I drove in a drunken stupor.
In 1988 I was working at Little Caesars, my first dealing job. There was a guy on my crew, craps crew, he wasn't a bad dealer, he could get around the layout and pay prop bets. More than I could do. He asked me if he could sleep in my car. I let him do it for a few days. He was drinking and smoking in there and stinking it up, so I kicked him out. "Sleep in the fucking shelter."
But the point of this little aside is that there was a man in California who got drunk, and he was only a couple of blocks from home. Instead of walking this guy got into his car, AND GET THIS -- he drives his vehicle through the living room of a house and kills a little girl watching TV.
And this guy who was camping out in my car KNEW HIM. They were both in the insurance business. The case with the man driving his car through a living room got a lot of press, naturally. An epiphanic horror story if there ever was one.
It's one thing to drink yourself to death but to take other people on your miserable journey -- that's criminal.

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