adventures in publicity

To be honest, it's more of "adventures in Michael can't operate a car" but there's a publicity angle.

Around 7:15pm yesterday i was driving home along the FDR, when i got a call from a writer saying he was having trouble reaching one of my artists for a phone interview. So i began taking down his number so i could have one of my colleagues who was still in the office conference the two parties together. As I was doing so, inching along at a snail's pace in heavy traffic, i lost focus for a second. When i looked up, a blue chevy impala was looming up in front of me. I slammed on the brakes, but too late- i rear-ended him.

Now, normally this would be a minor incident. A tiny fender bender, with negligible, bordering on nonexistent, damage to both cars. Normally.

The car i had rear-ended, however, was an unmarked police car, and the driver a NYPD detective. It was when he put on his flashers that i began to ponder what my prison name would be.

Fortunately, he was very cool- gave me a bit of a hard time for my absentmindedness, but as we both stood there looking at our cars and seeing that there hadn't really even been any paint chipped off the bumpers let alone a dent, crack, or anything worse, he decided to let me go with a stern talking to.

Never let it be said that i won't go to the wall for my clients. Or that i am a good driver.