vroom vroom, bitches know they can in-fact catch me: i got hit by a car on the bu campus and lived to tell the tale

By: Anita Dickenme

 “Sex is boring, hit me with your car,” read Charli XCX’s Instagram on December 23rd of last year. Upon seeing the post pop up on my feed, I pondered it for a quick second before ultimately disregarding it. I can’t say it affected me too much at the time. Truthfully, I do not have a lot of sex (this likely doesn’t come as a shock considering I write for the Pinky Toe). I also had never been hit by a car. I had no real room to comment one way or the other.

But now, I am confident when I say getting hit by a car does truly spice up one’s life. Adds an extra zest I didn’t even know I was missing. 

As all good stories do, this one starts on a dark and stormy night as I embark on the expedition back to West Campus; trekking and trudging my way down Comm Ave. Bogged down by heavy rain, hefty Doc Martens, and my diminishing will to live (I was coming back from Mugar in the middle of midterms afterward), I hung my head low in a futile attempt to keep the wind and rain from whipping at my face. As eager as I am to make it back to the warm embrace of my twin XL bed, I want it to be noted that I still stopped at every intersection, patiently waiting for my turn to cross the street. 

I continue this compliance as I cross the street in front of Student Health Services (a fitting location), only moving to cross the street once I have a signal. However, the little white walking man's side failed me (as most white men do). Peeking my head out of my hood, I see a red car creeping its way into the intersection. I decide to keep going, seeing as the driver is likely to stop. However, the driver decides to keep inching forward. Despite my already impressive speed, I decided to put a little pep in my step in order to get out of the way. And besides, they’ll slow down because why would someone hit me? right ???

Wrong. 

This motherfucker decides to floor the gas. He tries to wipe me out like a Wii bowling pin or something. I start to run, but my attempt is futile. I make contact with the vehicle, my forearm slamming on the hood as I make my mad dash to the sidewalk.

 However, as I am struck by the car I can’t help but think back to Charli’s post. Truly, there is no greater intimacy than that between a girl and the 4,000 pounds of metal hurtling at her in the street. I feel no pain. Only enlightenment. I become light and airy, shedding all of my mortal sins and ascending through the realms.  I transcend all known realms of the human experience. 

A revelation is bestowed upon me: Being hit by a car is better than sex. 

Luckily, I made it out rather unscathed; only sustaining bruises to my forearm and my ego. The man and I both stare at each other, flabbergasted. But before I can even say anything, he jets off, leaving me for dead. I stand at the intersection of St. Paul and Commonwealth with my mouth agape. I am absolutely dumbfounded. I’ve just had the most hallowed experience and I can’t even revel in it with a partner in the act?  What am I to do now? Do I call the cops? My Mom? The Hot Priest from Fleabag?? The Church of Scientology???

Being the chronic shitposter that I am, I immediately decide to whip out my phone and share the experience and accompanying revelations with my loyal fans (the 30 or so people I subject to said shitposting) rather than any of the more logical options above. I like to think of myself as a jester; my wins and woes are content for their consumption and entertainment. And this, this is my magnum opus. 

As I’m about to press upload it becomes blatantly obvious that I must accompany the post with a Charli XCX car song as it's rather topical. But the question becomes which one?? 

I could go with the classic, dance-pop banger I Love It. After all, the song did start my love affair with Charli at the ripe age of 9. But that’s just the issue: the song screams going too hard after snorting pixie stick dust at the middle school dance. It’s not pious. It does not give sanctity. Anthems like Backseat, White Mercedes, and Porsche would defeat the purpose as those songs, despite being references to cars, have an inherent sensuality to them. I am above all that now. Unlock it (Lock It) suffers from the same pitfalls, but has the additional disadvantage of me detesting Jay Park and his verse. Crash fulfills all the right criteria, but it pales in comparison to Vroom Vroom—my ultimate pick. This song revolutionized Charli’s music just as being hit by a car revolutionized my outlook on life. And besides, I’d love to think of myself as cute, sexy and my ride’s sporty (i don’t have a driver's license).