Bad Date

I was seeing a girl back when I was 17.
She was on work experience and I was meeting her in town.
I was riding home uphill, to get to the bus, to meet her for lunch.

Next thing I know I’m pulling my face out of the shattered back window of a Mercedes-Benz. -I’d broken the window with my nose, and while I knew I was in trouble, and there was blood dripping on the road, I could still see and walk. I went to a building site 50 metres down the road. One of the workers lost his lunch when he saw me. They called an ambulance.
I had a strangely chatty ride with the ambos. I passed the bus I was trying to catch on the 20 km drive to the hospital.

I was met by an intern, who began cleaning my face up with saline and a sponge, - as good as rubbing sandpaper into an open wound.
She then stitched me up, and my blood alcohol level was tested for the police.
I then checked myself out of hospital, called the girl, and met her after work.
None of this seemed strange to me.
I had 20 stitches in my nose and chin, my two front teeth were broken, and most of my face was cut up.
But I was expected home at 8 PM, and still had plenty of time to go.
I terrified a lot of people walking through the city that afternoon.

I met the girl, she was a little upset, but took it surprisingly well.
We caught the bus back to her place.
There was no one there, so we kissed for a bit.
This was awkward, as the nerves in my teeth were partly exposed.
Her parents came home, freaked out, and called my parents over. They were a bit pissed.
I had lukewarm custard for dinner, as the teeth were a little sensitive, but I was hungry.

I had my teeth fixed the next morning, and went to school.
That evening I went to the police station, and found the lady whose car I had hit wasn’t going to charge me for the repair bill.
The wounds couldn’t be bandaged, so I looked like Frankenstein for the next couple of weeks.
The girl continued dating me through all of this, but I broke up with her soon after.
She drew a picture of me, complete with unshaven whiskers where I couldn’t shave next to the scars.
Bits of glass worked their way out of my face for the next 4 years.
I had plastic surgery 2 years later.

Most people don’t notice the scars until I point them out.