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Two friends of ours were out last night and were on their way home. On MONTANA and ECHO PARK they were approached by a man (possibly 2?) who is described as a gang member. He began yelling at them and calling them “faggots” and saying really awful homophobic…
TOOL.
Am I the last person to learn of ignorehitler? I feel like I’m becoming my mother.
Just over 2 years ago, I had a collision with a cyclist while driving to class. The cyclist broke his sternum and hit his head pretty badly on the asphalt. I wrote this recap the night after it happened mainly so I’d remember the essentials. He filed a lawsuit against me not long after the accident happened. The case was dismissed about a year ago. Re-reading this for the first time in a long time made my stomach hurt.
In an effort to escape the bus glut on Santa Monica Boulevard, I turn left for a short cut. Romaine near La Brea. I’m mentally going over the list of shit I have to get at Ikea later when class is over: window sheers, hanging shoe storage, rugs, picture frames. I’m about 5 minutes away. My brow is knit. Suddenly, a young Hispanic dude in a Dodgers hat appears from the right on his bike. He sees me. I see him. We are very surprised to see each other. Our faces say “OH FUCK”. And then BAM. His body slams into my windshield right in front of my face. OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK! I feel dusty glass hit my hand. I stop. COLD.
I try to put my window down, but I keep hitting the wrong button. He is hurting. The dude is moaning so loudly. He’s HOLLERING. Window. Guy. Window. Guy. Open door. Close it. Find the right window button. ARE YOU OKAY? OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY? He isn’t okay. He is writhing around and crying. He seems like he’s having difficulty breathing. I open the door and try to get out with my seatbelt still on.
Stop it. Get your shit together. Deep breath. CALM THE FUCK DOWN. Call 911. Get out of car. “I’ve hit a cyclist. Hollywood. Romaine and Mansfield. Yes, he’s injured. transferring…start over. “I’ve hit a cyclist. A bicyclist in Hollywood. Romaine and Mansfield just east of La Brea. On Romaine. Yes, he is injured and needs an ambulance. Thanks.” Back to the dude. “The ambulance is already on the way, ma’am.” Who called before me? A crowd begins to gather. They kneel down beside him. I hear him say “Eddie”. “The ambulance is on the way, Eddie”. He’s wearing shorts. His stomach is doughy. There’s some kind of cord coming out of his pocket that says SAINTS SAINTS SAINTS SAINTS. A big dude in a towing company t-shirt asks him if there’s someone he should call for him. Eddie asks him to call his girl and stammers out the numbers. Somebody says they want to get something for his head. I wonder if I have anything and look in the trunk. I see the box fan and my old slippers. Nothing useful. I have a brief weird moment where I’m staring into the trunk of my car while a guy is groaning in pain only feet away from me. Oh trunk, I want to crawl in you. I want to close the lid and sleep this off. Snap out of it. Where is the ambulance? Where did he come from? WHERE DID HE FUCKING COME FROM?
I look to the right where he hit me and see van, truck, truck and the Hollywood Tow Yard across the street. He had a stop sign. Why didn’t he stop at the stop sign? WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T HE STOP? He’s really young. I see the Dodgers hat on the ground. It looks new and has a stiff extra-long bill. One of the onlookers picks it up. I kneel down beside him and tell him needlessly again that the ambulance will be there any minute. Kneeling usually kills my knees but I don’t feel anything right now. Ouch, now I do. I stand back up. I hear sirens faintly. It is such a pretty day! I think of 9-11. Pretty day. Stop it dumbass. Stop thinking of 9-11. I look again at the onlookers. There so many people surrounding him and whispering encouragement. I have a moment where I wonder if I’m doing enough for him. Should I be doing more? Should I have called his girlfriend? What else can I do for him? Do these people think I’m an asshole for hitting Eddie with my car? Do they think I’m a big fat jerk? WHY AM I WORRYING ABOUT WHAT PEOPLE ARE THINKING? Stop it. Stop it. There’s a cheeseball blonde girl in a newsie hat showing her navel holding a headshot. She asks a guy about an address and he points her towards Santa Monica Blvd. She leaves. She’s lucky. This isn’t her problem. This is my problem. This is a big problem. I call Johnny and leave a message. Johnny is teaching the class downstairs from mine. Voicemail. I leave a what must have been a weird message. “Johnny. I’ve had a car accident. Uh uh uh uh. It’s serious. I’ll call Susan.” I text Susan. “I’ve had a bad car accident. I won’t be at class. Emergency.”
The ambulance pulls up. The sea of onlookers parts to let them in. One of the ambulance guys is hot. Stop it. Stop it. They have one of those boards and a head stabilizer thingy. This is serious shit. This is really happening. I hear the hot one say, “Kaiser Permanente.” I have Kaiser too. Do we have the same doctor? Get it together, Brister. Here come the cops. Thank god. Oh no. My current registration is sitting on the coffee table in my house. I took it out to get the date for my change of address. Fuck me, my car insurance card isn’t up to date. I sheepishly add this info as I hand my docs to the officer. The cop says this isn’t a problem. He’ll look it up. This cop is easy breezy. He calms me down immediately. What happened? Westbound on Romaine. Driving about 30. Bike appears out of nowhere. BOOM. Not that I needed to, but I point out the lack of a stop sign on my side and the fact that he has one on his side. I give the officer my info and my new address. He gives me a business card with a number to call tomorrow. I watch the ambulance tear down Romaine with the siren squealing. The cop gives me a rundown on what to do next. He asks if I’m OK and I start squalling. I’m shaking. I seriously hurt another person. I made someone holler and moan for help, I hurt him so badly. The cop tells me to take pictures of my car, but my hands are shaking. I photograph the windshield and the damage on the hood. I think I should take more from a distance but don’t. I don’t know why I don’t. Another cop car pulls up and a friendly looking cop approaches my cop and they man hug and have a cop-friend moment. I look back at my car. My windshield is smashed. There are dents and scuffs all up my hood. What do I do now? I don’t know what to do. My cop touches my shoulder and tells me I’ll be OK. He tells me to call my insurance company. He says I can drive my car if I’d like and tells me to use the card he gave me if I have any problems. He tells me to take some time to collect myself and I do. I’ve just hit a cyclist.
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Dear friends and strangers,
Please watch BEST FRIENDS FOREVER tonight at 8:30 on NBC.
It is so funny and so great. And was created by such wonderful people.
And please spread the word. Lets get a million more viewers for tonight!
Only three episodes left this season.
Love,
Chris
Erin Gibson: Pretty Funny (Minus the Funny) -
I don’t understand a lot of things. I don’t understand why my neighbor is pursuing a career as a 1990’s electronic music artist. I don’t understand why the ice cream shop near my house considers two scoops of ice cream one scoop. And I don’t understand how women, educated journalists, can be so…
This is well-put, well-written and well copy-edited (hi Katai!) Let’s all titty-bump gibblertron next time we see her.
Thanks for remaining relevant, LA Times.
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