BYOB / by Courtney Mehlhaff

I was reminded recently of something crazy that happened to a friend several years ago.

He was driving in a residential neighborhood when another car ran a stop sign from the side. Unable to hit the brakes quickly enough, he clipped the vehicle that had popped out in front of him.

After taking a moment to recover from the impact, the other driver emerged from his car . . . holding a beer. Just stepped out with his open can, arms wide, to have a casual conversation with a fellow motorist. Like, "Hey, buddy. You get it. These things happen when you're hammered and operating heavy machinery."

The man was adamant that nobody needed to call the police, no damage had been done, and no insurance information should be exchanged. Imagine that.

Recognizing that he was dealing with a heavily intoxicated person who might be unpredictable, my friend assured him that all was well. He returned to his car, took down the man's license plate, and called the cops as soon as the dude swerved off down the road again.

This wasn't exactly your run-of-the-mill accident story, but it didn't seem like anything too extraordinary until my friend pointed out one incredible thing.

"Cotonee," he said. "I hit a drunk driver!"

He had somehow reversed the heartbreakingly opposite trend and landed someone in police custody by plowing into them before they could hit anyone else. 

And how many people can say that?