Yesterday something interesting happened to me. By interesting I mean painful and by happened to me I mean…well, happened to me of course.
I was walking across a pedestrian crossing when I was clipped by some moron that decided to go through a red light. At least I think it was a moron, they definately had all the hallmarks. For a kick-off they were driving a big Merc, also, rather than stop to see if I was ok they accelerated. Unfortunately I was too busy rapidly spinning and falling to the ground to get the number plate.
Fuck you inertia.
Still, at least there were plenty of helpful passers by……oh thats right there wasn’t any. So, after hobbling back to the apartment, I realised that the likelihood of me getting up the stairs were pretty slim and decided to head to the hospital.
At the hospital they gave me some wonder juice that took the pain away. Well, most of the pain anyway. Fortunately nothing was broken except my pride. I must remember to Ebay for a pride protector damnit, it’s always damaged in these situations.
The reason for the damaged pride? Well, as the pain was coming and going, walking was interesting. Now, when the pain was there, I had no issue, people could clearly see I was in pain. However, when it moved to being an ache, I start walking like a white Huggy Bear. All I was missing was the damn furry hat and cane. Which is where I am a day later. I now have people looking at me like I am some kind of saddo wannabe pimp.
I may have to take out some sort of vendetta against all Merc drivers on the basis that at some point I will get the guy that did it.
The thing about this event is that it reminded me of a few years ago, where I also thought I could take on a vehicle. In this case, I was at least in a car of my own. My oponent, however, was a double decker bus. I think I must have unresolved vehicle issues from some sort of trauma in a past life.
It’s interesting that a double decker bus could get the better of me in a Peugeot 306. I mean, sure he had the weight and reach advantage, but I was quicker and had the lower center of gravity. In MMA terms it should have been a closer match. Alas, being a double decker bus, my opponent was more inclined to slam into my shoulder at around 30 MPH.
Basically, I was pulling out of a junction and needed to cross traffic. It was rush hour and this particular road was pretty busy. I see a gap in the traffic heading the way I want to go. So I check again to see if there is anything to stop me crossing and I see a bus. The bus is indicating to pull into the road I am currently sat in and is slowing down. So I pull out, all the while making sure that the gap is still there for me to get into. When I was happy that it was, I look towards the bus. Unfortunately someone had replaced the bus with a rather large grill and headlights. That’s right sports fans, the bus (whilst still indicating) had decided that turning wasn’t on the agenda and thought he would like to drive my car. He did this by slamming into my drivers door.
It was at this point that pandemonium broke out. My back wheels hadn’t actually crossed the junction, but the force of the crash actually span the car so that I was facing the opposite direction. Some kindly soul called the….well…the world it would seem. I couldn’t move, my shoulder was pretty banged up, the bus driver (I believe his name was Mr N E Gligence) couldn’t get the door open. 3 fire trucks, 2 ambulances and about 5 police cars show up. I discover that the bus is in fact a school bus and start panicking about the kids on the bus.
I remember seeing all of the hydraulic cutters being brought out by the fire brigade and wondering how bad it actually was. Just as they are about to start chopping the car up, one of the firemen decides to try and open the door. 2 seconds later a (dare I say dissappointed) fireman is putting the cutting gear away and the car is swarming with firemen and paramedics.
Why is it that they say that they are going to make you comfortable to be removed from the vehicle?? They slapped a neck brack on me, which was practically cutting my windpipe. Ah well, it seemed to make them feel better, and certainly the chances of my head falling off were considerably reduced.
It is about then that I realise where I am and become rather uncooperative. I shout to one of the coppers that someone needs to go and tell Sarah, preferably before someone that recognises the car decides to phone her. Sarah was heavily pregnant at this point, I think about 7 or 8 months if I recall, and the last thing I needed was someone panicking her.
I get a “yeah, no problem” from some copper. 10 minutes later I see Sarah running down the street to the car. Thank you Mr Policeman, thank you so much….
They did try and stop Sarah getting into the passenger door of the car, but there were only blokes on the “scene” and frankly, us blokes are easily scared of heavily pregnant and hormonal women. You think a women scorned is bad….get one pregnant – Holy crap. I digress. A friend of ours had been really tactful and clever. Sarah had recieved the following phonecall:
Friend: Hi Sarah, how are you
Sarah: Fine thanks, you
Friend: Not too bad. Hey, just remind me, what is the number plate of Daves car?
I will leave the conversation there….not the brightest fucking idea really. I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily know what to have said myself, but I am fairly sure that wouldn’t have been the method I employed.
So, they get me out and into the ambulance. Strap me in and start giving me pain relief. On the way to the hospital, the driver tells me that the news is there and filming the car. I insist that we turn around, after all it isn’t every day you can become a celebrity. Unfortunately these paramedic types have some sort of code or something that says that car crash victims have to be treated in a hospital.
A number of things happened by the time I got to the hospital. Rumour central is a wonderful thing, and the following stories were spinning around:
- I had been cut out of the wreckage
- I had walked away
- I was cut out of the wreckage and been airlifted by helicopter to hospital in critical condition
- and my personal fave – I died.
Unfortunately, I am not even joking about that last one. All of these things had done the rounds by the time I got to the frickin hospital. Sarahs Aunt called Sarah in tears…I think she heard the dead thing.
Apparently, at the scene the local doctors surgery sent out its staff to check the kids out and gave everyone a clean bill of health, which made me feel a whole lot better. So imagine my joy when, around 8 weeks later, I got the first of 20 odd letters from parents suing me for the accident. It was like something out of a bad movie, one of the kids supposedly in a neck brace and unable to move was doing sprint relay in school sports day the day after the frickin accident.
There was one genuine injury, and I was devastated when I found out. A young girl had just gotten back to school after surgery on her knee, which she then banged when the bus slammed into the car. She was OK though, but I was in pieces when I heard. Her dad was actually consoling me while I was waiting for X-Rays.
But the others were just opportunistic ambulance chasing, lawyers 4 u advert watching bastards.
The moral to this story, if you intend to pick a fight with a vehicle, ensure the odds are in your favour.
I am off out to buy a Hummer..