midnight
The ambulance came and my apartment was full of paramedics; they said that I could go to the hospital, but I'd probably just be made to wait for hours in the waiting room, given painkillers and sent home. Still here; knee still hurts. For those longtime readers of the blog -- when my ex-cowboy was hit by a cab, he of course was taken to the hospital and I sped right there. But he had a broken collarbone, and I merely have a banged-up knee, a bent laptop, and a propensity for calling numbers in my cell phone and asking "What? What now?"
Practically speaking, tomorrow I go to the police station to file a civilian accident report.
The cops came to my place and waited until the ambulance arrived; while one cop went down to direct the paramedics upstairs, the other observed me, sitting on my couch, weeping for no real reason other than a sharp glimpse of death -- death-perhaps-now is a hard reminder of death-certainly-later -- and he asked, ever so helpfully, "Are you married?"
The cab driver who seemed nice when I was stunned and injured now seems incredibly manipulative, probably deceitful. I stood on one leg under a tiny awning, huddling against the rain, as the cab driver offered to give me "a little something" not to file a report, and I declined, asking repeatedly towards the street, towards no one, to authority figures not present: what now, what do I do? People freshly whacked by cars are notoriously easy to manipulate. The cops said I should have stayed on the scene and called 911 -- in the rain, in the cold. Instead, I got into the warm cab, and listened for ten minutes as the cab driver told me he could see I was a good woman because I didn't "pretend to fall down," as so many people do, these people who deliberately jump in front of cabs. I had just left a tutoring job on Central Park West, prim in my Audrey-Hepburn-as-schoolteacher dress; is this a profile of a cab-jumper? A bump is now rising on my hand, from where I tried, Superman-style, to stop the car. When I got home, I saw what the cab had done to my stockings.
What are the standards for live-blogging your own auto accident? I want a Strunk & White, a stylebook of catastrophe.
Practically speaking, tomorrow I go to the police station to file a civilian accident report.
The cops came to my place and waited until the ambulance arrived; while one cop went down to direct the paramedics upstairs, the other observed me, sitting on my couch, weeping for no real reason other than a sharp glimpse of death -- death-perhaps-now is a hard reminder of death-certainly-later -- and he asked, ever so helpfully, "Are you married?"
The cab driver who seemed nice when I was stunned and injured now seems incredibly manipulative, probably deceitful. I stood on one leg under a tiny awning, huddling against the rain, as the cab driver offered to give me "a little something" not to file a report, and I declined, asking repeatedly towards the street, towards no one, to authority figures not present: what now, what do I do? People freshly whacked by cars are notoriously easy to manipulate. The cops said I should have stayed on the scene and called 911 -- in the rain, in the cold. Instead, I got into the warm cab, and listened for ten minutes as the cab driver told me he could see I was a good woman because I didn't "pretend to fall down," as so many people do, these people who deliberately jump in front of cabs. I had just left a tutoring job on Central Park West, prim in my Audrey-Hepburn-as-schoolteacher dress; is this a profile of a cab-jumper? A bump is now rising on my hand, from where I tried, Superman-style, to stop the car. When I got home, I saw what the cab had done to my stockings.
What are the standards for live-blogging your own auto accident? I want a Strunk & White, a stylebook of catastrophe.
posted by JenIsFamous at 1/30/2006 12:00:00 AM
4 Comments:
whoa... and glad you're okay... though i'm not surprised when someone gets hit by a cab, cause cabs never stop before turning right on red when the pedestrian has the right away...
Well, I am glad you are okay sibling. However, I must remark, a good paramedic encourages people to go to hospitals and get checked out. Lazy paramedics who want to get back to watching TV encourage people to ignore their ailments.
Especially considering the legal implications of your accident, a trip to the hospital, and very thorough records of the results of that trip were both definitely appropriate. Now if you have knee problems down the line, you'll have no documentation that they were caused by a complacent cab driver.
Oh wait, one more thing...... You're a "trooper" Jen. Jen the trooper.
Happy to hear you're (relatively) all right. Sounds like your "superhero" instincts kicked in when you tried to stop the cab with your hand. Stay well.
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