Hit and Run. Literally.

On Tuesday night, I was lamenting to Chris that I’m bored with life. Nothing exciting ever happens. I go to work. Go to the gym. Go to sleep. Repeat.

I promise never to complain about boredom ever again.

On Tuesday night, Chris and I went to the gym. After our workout, we walked to back to our car, and just as Chris turned on the car — we hadn’t even put it into gear yet — we saw a car flying down the street. It hit a parked car next us, which rammed into our car, smashing the driver’s side door.

Now here’s where the story gets interesting.

Immediately after the impact, the driver of the other car (from here on, I’ll refer to him as the Bad Guy) backed up and started to speed away. And Chris — who has beat both Grand Theft Auto Vice City and San Andreas — decided to chase him.

He threw me his phone, told me to call 911, and get the guy’s license plate number. In shock, I was suddenly all thumbs and couldn’t comprehend how to even unlock Chris’ phone, let alone dial. Meanwhile, Chris was driving behind the Bad Guy. The Bad Guy drove into an industrial area full of semi trailers. He missed a turn, drove up onto a snowy area, and drove into a parked semi trailer. He got the driver’s side corner of his car pinned underneath the semi. We were immediately behind him, blocking any attempt to back out.

For a split second, we were sitting there, blocking this guy in, shining our headlights into his car, and I’m thinking, “Holy shit, he could have a gun. He could turn around right now and try to kill us.” Instead, he climbed over to the passenger side door and started to run away.

And then Chris, who suddenly decided he had superhero powers, decided to CHASE him. Meanwhile, I’m chanting Bad Guy’s license plate number out loud so I wouldn’t forget, as if it mattered. The dude just left his car with us. Not only do I have his license plate number in front of me, but there’s probably a good chance the dude doesn’t even own this car, seeing as he was so willing to leave it and all.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably more like 90 seconds, reality started to set in. My husband was chasing a Bad Guy through a dark, snow-covered, industrial area. The guy could have a gun, or a knife, or brass knuckles of death. He could be bludgeoning Chris right now. I needed to find him. So I turned off the car, got out and started screaming for Chris and running around aimlessly. He didn’t respond or show up for what again seemed like an eternity, but was again, probably about 90 seconds. Bad Guy got away (Thank God. Just what was Chris going to do if he caught him? Ask for his license and registration?).

So we called the cops and they came out, took our report, and towed Bad Guy’s car. The officer also tracked down the owner of the other parked car and filled him in on what happened. Because coming back to a parking lot and finding your car all smashed up really would have sucked. And that’s exactly what would have happened to us if we had left five minutes later. Instead, my husband, International Man of Mystery, chased him down and got him to at least ditch his car.

Now, I’ll be honest. Part of me thinks it’s pretty darn cool that Chris turned all vigilante. But at the same time, I could have become a widow Tuesday night. For this latter point, I did lots of scolding that night along the lines of “Never, ever, ever do that AGAIN!” followed by lots of hugs and kisses because I realized that I could have lost him, and because, well, the whole thing was sort of a turn on.