Tonight I got hit by a car. While afoot. A most disconcerting and unpleasant experience. Thrown up, then aground, sharpish. Black sedan, a car paid to be driven for some overpaid douchebag, who is presumably TOO IMPORTANT to drive his own ass around the city. (That’s a post-incident judgment. Take it with a tiny grain of salt. A teeny grain. Pretty much no salt, really.) Anyway, I had the light—All the eyewitnesses said so, too— It was a rare intersection in NY, involving both a light and an arrow. Anyone who drives knows these intersections. Actually, drivers tend to take them for granted— but anyone who walks or cycles in NYC is VERY aware of these, because the signal for us to cross is delayed— you can’t just look for the opposing red. I waited for the WALK signal; then— started crossing. BOOM!
In a nanosecond, lifted off the ground, slammed onto the pavement. SHOCK, of course. Adrenaline is delivered. As soon as I land, I assess my parts, stand up, take physical stock that all is functioning, nothing broken, Good! Thank Everything!
Surrounded by friendly New Yorkers, witnesses to the accident. Amazing souls who paused their evenings on my behalf. Tourists, you may think us unfriendly, but when shit goes down, NYers are the BEST. I was taken care of to a T, though I retreated when the ambulance approached, cause I cannot afford that shit yet, but I’m EXCITED for the single-payer system that may one day be in place after the limping, start-of-things ‘Obama Care’ has begun. I LONG for Canadian or European-style SOCIALIST Democracy!! If you disagree, I will fight you in the ring. Well, not immediately; right now half of my body is in PAIN. I have to convince it we’re still a kid. Give me a day or three.
Know what? My friends whom I’d called assumed I was on my BIKE, cause that’s the only time people get hit by cars in this town, but I was walking, and no headphones, even.
NYC is a town that should be prioritized as such:
– Public transport
– Yellow cabs, Car services
– Private citizens’ vehicles (so often HUGE MF-in’ RANGE ROVERS, etc— suck it. You’re in TOWN, not AFRICA. I digress.)
This should be a safe place to walk AND cycle. God, I wish I’d had the wherewithal to snap their license plate with my phone, except SHOCK. Truly, the driver, who had little English, was very forthcoming, and willing to pull over, to talk; I just couldn’t think straight at the time. Eventually, I dismissed him. Immediately thereafter, all of my sidewalk-witness champions asked me Had I got the license number? NO! I am still in shock!! I’ve been answering all of your endearing, wonderfully caring questions! (Seriously? That was incumbent on me? I mean, I’m pretty level-headed, but dang.)
Alas, as soon as I saw the ambulance at the intersection, I thanked them profusely and said Bye! And walked away. The idea of spending the night in some Upper West Side Hospital (and its attendant bills incl. ambulance) was far more upsetting to me than calling my friends, who talked me down during post-adrenaline jitters, then getting on the train back home with Maggie, who I’d met in town.
One of the happiest moments—one of the witnesses was a cyclist; saw the whole thing, and was a doctor; gave me his card and told me if I did feel a need for X-rays or what-not after the fact, to get in touch, and he’d make sure I’d not have to pay. See? New Yorkers, in the red-line moment of things, are fuckin’ mensches, even if they seem callous at a glance. But it all relies on a real moment.
I do love this town. But Manhattan is still “Work island”. It may be “Suck Island” to me for a bit, cause it really ruined my Monday evening, wherein Maggie and I were going to see an ‘intimate’ show featuring a favorite band at the Ed Sullivan Theater with tickets won for free (is anything free? Maybe I’ve been too lucky of late), but instead i got busted up by an impatient driver, so back to Brooklyn. O well. I’m still in one piece, and a few days of heating pad followed by ice never killed anyone. Maggs and I had a quiet night of catching up. Was lovely. Hell, the incident didn’t even put a run in my stockings— my body will recover. Could’ve been so much worse. Bruised, but not broken. I’m a lucky one.