So this morning so jackass tried to run me over in his SUV. (I'm using "he" as a generic pronoun. Could easily have been a she.)
There's a corner right by my apartment that joins two fairly busy roads -- the one that runs in front of my building in particular sees some serious traffic. And everyone tears down that road at at LEAST 10 miles over the speed limit. And at this corner, they traffic light is clearly labeled "NO TURN ON RED".
So there I am, waiting to cross. I get my little white walking signal and start off. Now, because I know that people tear ass down this road, I always check before I step off the curb; there's no one coming immediately. I'm about 1/3 of the way through the crosswalk when ASSFUCK comes tearing around the corner in said SUV. I don't even think he slowed down for the fucking turn, nor did he apparently look at the road in front where I was clearly walking. He swerved right and I jumped left. He kept going, not really even slowing and I fell on my ass.
Some very kind woman who was obeying the traffic laws hopped out of her car, full of concern and asked me if I was OK. I was, except for being all shook up and nauseated from adrenaline.
So, I'm fine, although I think my ass will have a gigantic bruise. I lived to tell the tale but it was probably one of the closest calls I've ever had.
Times like that are when I really wish that a) psychic powers were real and b) I had them. Because nothing would have made me happier than to make that SUV's engine die and then make the driver hemorrhage out of every orifice in his head. Not necessarily enough to kill him, just enough to cause a lot of pain and panic. (Notice how I make sure the SUV is out of commission so it can't hit anyone else when the driver explodes in blood? I'm civic-minded that way.)
Comments