A funny thing happened on the way to the scene...

In my second week at the South Jersey Bureau I  covered a tragic school bus accident in Burlington county that led to the death of an 11-year-old girl and the severe injuries of her twin sister and another young boy on the bus. Because New Jersey is one of the few states that requires seat belts in its school buses, the National Transportation Safety Board was called in to investigate the cause of the accident.

The school supposedly held grief counseling sessions for students, parents and community members the morning after the accident. It was my job to hang outside the school and interview those exiting the meetings, hoping to find out details about the young girl's personality, interests, etc. After driving 45 minutes to the school, I arrived to an empty parking lot.

But it paid to make the trip. The NTSB was giving a press conference later that afternoon and the local police station, and I was expected to report back to newsroom on what was said.

I stuck around the school for 15 minutes for the off chance that someone might emerge from the building. That never happened, but I did spot several news trucks circling the sleepy country town and proceeded to follow one headed toward the scene of the accident: a flashing yellow light intersection between two sleepy country roads. As I was headed there, ANOTHER accident occurred. It was a minor fender bender, but still a little unsettling.

This second accident created a huge backup at the intersection, so I couldn't pull over to talk to the police officers at the intersection for an additional 15 minutes. When I was finally able to park on the shoulder, I  got out and spoke to a few police officers at the scene. Sure enough, the cops had no knowledge of the previous day's accident or the one that took place less than an hour before.

Just shy of defeated, I walked back to my car, put the key in the ignition....and it didn't start. My trusty wheels (which are two years my senior) failed on me. And I was stranded in Burlington County. With 45 minutes to get to the press conference.

Fortunately I was saved by one of the news trucks who let me hitch a ride to the police station. I stayed for the press conference and made arrangements with my Dad (another savior) to rescue me and have my car towed (back to Wilmington).

In the interim, I looked for a quiet place to organize my notes and dictate them back to another reporter in the newsroom. What I found was happy hour at the Chesterfield Inn. Over a cacophony of  country music and unhinged conversation, I managed to dictate my notes to my colleague over the phone. By my second visit to the complimentary pizza buffet (a weekly ritual for Chesterfieldians), my Dad had arrived.

Though my accounting major friends roll their eyes at the endless series of bizarre situations that is a career in journalism, I'm still game for the adventure. Especially when there's free pizza.