Earlier this week I’m driving back from a doctor appointment and I’m only like 3 blocks from home when I come upon an accident in the other direction.
A guy is on the ground and another guy is getting out of SUV. I pull into the turn lane and throw on the caution lights.
So the SUV was coming around the corner and he saw this guy crossing the street, but instead of slamming on the brakes he just kept honking at him and then he hit him (That is how the SUV guy told me what happened — can you believe it?)
There was a lady approaching already on her cell with 911 and I’m down with the guy trying to convince him not to get up, but he keeps saying, "I’m straight," while getting up on his knees.
SUV driver is also telling him he needs to stay down until the paramedics get there. When I take the fallen guy’s hand he goes back down. I remind him that he’s just been hit by a car and needs to be checked out — and he didn’t even know he been hit by a car!
Okay. Now. *Sigh*
The guy reeked of alcohol and there was a bag nearby with a couple of cans of beers peeping out (the big tall cans) and another loose can on the road nearby.
And he is back to trying to get up, but still holding my hand. We get him to tell us his name and I just keep talking at him about how he needs to wait, the alcohol could be keeping him from realizing that he’s hurt, but this guy just wanted to get up and go home.
"I’m straight," he insisted. "I’m straight."
The paramedics arrive and they have to help him up because he is not staying down. Still he refused medical attention and just wants to go home.
He’s determined to just go home and I can’t handle the idea of him just walking away and passing out some place else where he wouldn’t be seen so I offer to drive him to wherever he wants to go. He accepts the ride, gathers his beers, and we head over to my car.
The guy groans, so obviously in pain, and I can even see a rip around the knee of his pants and he’s limping. We stop on the traffic island and I again try to convince him to let these paramedics check him out. He finally submits to having his blood pressure checked, but then he signs the refusal of medical care and I witness that signature with mine.
(On a side note the paramedics were using one of those toughbooks — really cool — and I just signed my name on the screen, just as if I were signing a credit/debit card machine. You just gotta love the gadgets of the world we live in!)
So we’re in my car and I’m helping the guy buckle up and he again tells me his name. I tell him mine and we shake, but now there are police at the scene and they are heading our way.
"Oh, no," the guy groans.
"You don’t wanna talk to the police because of the alcohol?"
"No."
"Okay," and I start the car. Too late. An officer is knocking at the passenger window.
"Where’s the fire," seriously, that’s what he asked as the window lowered.
And he makes the guy get out of the car and another officer is at my window wanting to know why we are leaving and do I know this guy.
I tell him I don’t know this guy, but he just wants to go home and I didn’t want him walking after just being hit by a car. The SUV guy and a paramedic back me up, but I still had to explain that I was just on my way home and saw the accident and pulled over. No. I didn’t see the accident happen. I just saw that there was a guy in the street and the SUV guy was getting out of car, and, etc.
"Are you sure you don’t know this guy," the gray eyed officer asked me again.
"I don’t know him. I just live over on (my street) and blah, blah, blah…
"Aren’t you worried he might kill you and take your little Volvo," he asks me now.
It was all I could do to keep from laughing.
"He’s drunk, officer. If he could even manage to try anything I’d just sit on him," I smiled into those gray eyes (yeah, gray eyes — you don’t come across those often, do you?). It was so obvious I was that much bigger than the drunk.
"You really are just being nice," he says and takes a step back like he can’t believe me.
"Yeah. I mean, I live here. I’ve probably seen this guy around" (and I point over to the soup kitchen across the road) "when I’ve been out walking my dog."
"So you know what’s going on — what you’re doing?"
"I just want to get him home safe."
"Okay," he says and we’re allowed to get back in my car. "You be nice to the lady," the officer tells my new drunk friend. "She’s doing you a favor."
"Yes, sir," the guy agrees.
And we’re finally on our way to an apartment complex well over in the middle of UK. My new best friend keeps retelling me his name (like we just met again) all the way over there. It was a long drive even though it was less than two miles away because of the ROAD CONSTRUCTION going on all over downtown Lexington right now — and having to drive through campus during the fun time of classes being changed.
He gets outta my car and crosses the street towards on building of units. He’s not limping so much now, but he’s still very drunk. "I’m straight," he keeps yelling back at me as he makes his way to where he promised me there will be someone to keep watch over him.
He was a very sweet drunk (who did not vomit in my car — my only real worry) but I had to keep reminding him he’d just been hit by a car all the ride with me, too.
I hated just letting him walk away, but sometimes you just do what you can do. I’d done all I could and I was okay with that.
.png)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg){kind=link}