Hit By a Car

Yesterday, I was hit by a car. 

I thought, what a great post for the blog! 

And then I almost forgot about it.

I was walking across a side street at a 3-way intersection.  The street I crossed had a stop sign, the one I walked along did not.  As I moved out into the street in front of the car waiting to turn right, I thought briefly that they might be annoyed with me--waiting to turn right, finally getting their clearing, and then having to wait for the pedestrian who walked in front of rather than behind their car.  I did not expect, however, to be suddenly pushed sideways by the car that seemingly decided to take the clearing anyway. 

As a reflex, as I was being knocked to the side, I held up my hand to the driver like a crossing guard.  Like a crossing guard.  A CROSSING guard.  With the bumper touching my leg, I was a crossing guard.  There's authority for you.  How I wish now I would have smacked the hood of the car like they do in New York!  Let's just say for the purposes of this story that I whacked the car. 

The driver, a college-aged girl, looked up sheepishly, still yacking away on her cell phone and gave me a little apologetic wave.  As if she had accidentally cut in front of me in line at Starbucks.  I shot back a you-disgust-me face and went on my way.  I did not scream obscenities nor shake my fist.  I tried to intimidate her with my gaze.

It was kind of exciting actually.  I suppose every city-dweller at some point carries the battle scars of their pedestrian vs. vehicle stories.  But if this was my test for having grown thick city-skin, I think I failed.