Everyone remembers their last trip before COVID shut the world down, but my February 2020 ski vacation stands out for a very specific reason. My boyfriend (now husband) and I flew to Bozeman, Montana to attend the wedding of one of his ski racing friends—as the location and connection might suggest, the weekend was centered around the sport. We all hit the local mountain Saturday morning, before heading home to prep for the apres-ski themed reception.

This is where the story gets embarrassing, but here goes: I decided that the winter boots I had brought would not actually work for the party, and insisted on going to the local strip mall to find a more appropriate pair. My partner was not into this choice, andsent me on my own. I found exactly what I was looking for, pretty quickly. Then, when I departed said strip mall and made a left-hand turn across four lanes of traffic, I hit another car—it was worse than a fender bender, but no one was hurt.

This was bad. But what was worse: I wasn’t listed as a driver on the rental car. Which meant the insurance situation was unclear. Because I couldn’t figure out what insurance was covering me in that car—after realizing I couldn’t use the insurance on the car, I tried to find the card for the insurance that covered me at back home, but couldn’t find that on my phone either—–I left the scene of the collision with not just a ticket, but with a summons to show up in the Bozeman municipal courthouse that Monday morning.

It put a damper on the weekend, to say the least. After making a pact to tell no one at the wedding what happened—too big of a bummer of a story for that—we tried to celebrate but ended up leaving without even trying the vodka ice luge. I was unbelievably nervous throughout the next day. I didn’t really understand the range of punishments, I was nervous about being on the hook for potentially thousands of dollars in repairs, and the idea of being in trouble generally just freaks me out.

When we showed up in court, I kept feeling worse. Even though every single person was kind to us, the system was confusing, I was terrified of being late, I felt an incredible amount of shame. Why had I driven that car, without being an approved driver? Why had I been so stupid to insist that I needed those shoes? No one was going to care what was on my feet at a wedding in a community center with an ice luge! Never mind all of the rethinking about exactly what had happened when I’d made that left turn (the car coming toward me was turning right, and I hadn’t seen the car behind the turning car).

I still remember the courtroom: The dingy tile floors that looked like the ones in my elementary school, the totally unfamiliar organization of the system and room numbers, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the general consensus among every person in the building, minus the employees, that it would be a lot better if we did not have to be there. That consensus manifested in different........

© Slate