I am really lucky
Oct. 2nd, 2010 09:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pecuniumTo have had such a shitty night.
Les called me at work to say there had been an accident with her car, and she was fine, but not out for the evening, rather she was home.
I stayed after I clocked out at work for a few minutes to talk about knives with one of the new managers (it's sort of scary the turnover at my shop. Of the staff when I left, three remain; only two of them have worked there longer than I. That's everyone, sales and management. In the kitchen it's not so bad; most of them seem to be the same).
I was almost home, making a right, when the black BMW car started to make a left. I slowed the bike down, and the driver started to stop, so I continued, and the car stared to move again. I stopped, and then tipped over.
I was, to say the least, not happy. The seat on the bike is now detached from the frame, and I was trying to right the bike. I can do it, but it was in an awkward arrangement. Which was when the woman who had been driving the BMW added insult to injury. She had pulled into the parking lot a block up, and then came back to tell me it was my fault. I wouldn't have fallen if I'd just kept going.
I tried to point out that there was no way for me to know that, but she repeated herself, "All you had to do was keep going, and you would have been fine." Then, having never left her car, she drove away, and parked again at the grocery. I, in a spot semi-hidden from the traffic, kept trying to right the bike. Some people did stop (a white woman in a print sundress, a white male in button down and tie, and a black guy in a t-shirt), and the bike was righted.
I went home. My hip was a bit sore, from landing on the GPS (which shows not a mark for the impact... me, well I'm stiff when I walk), but not physically hurt. It was when I tried to tell Les about it that I fell apart. I was a bit short of crying when I got home, and Les was grabbing a shower. When she got out I started to explain it. When I got to the part about the coming back I fell apart and just started to yell; before I got to the end of the sentence and spun out of the room. The yelling took me by at least as much surprise as it hit Les.
Yeah, I had a shitty couple of moments, but Les has had a shitty couple of days (and the problem with the car is the least of it). So she asked me to leave her be. I left the room, called Marna, who told me I'd been less then swell, but wasn't a bad person; just a person who had done a bad thing, and that it would end up over the dam, sooner or later.
So far, so good. She and Aaron have gone out, so she will have a chance to unwind (I've never yelled at myself [as if I could] but I've been told it's not pleasant. I am pretty sure it's intense, and this was explosive yelling). I have eaten now. I have drugs to ease the inflammation in my hip, the bike is fine.
None of which is really why I got the urge to write.
This happened, at root because I was not in car. The lady at the light had waited for two cars to make the turn. She decided it was fine to enter the same space because she didn't think I was able to do her damage.
It's worse for bicycles.
That's been on my mind lately. I'm a second class vehicle. They are fair game. About a year ago there was an off-duty fireman who shot a cyclist because he was upset about the guy riding with his three year old daughter in the bicycle seat behind him. Shot him in the head, as the guy was walking away from a heated conversation after the fireman had let his vehicle to yell at him.
Shot at the back of his head, then just drove away. In August the Grand Jury reduced the charge to "assault with a deadly weapon with intent to kill" from "attempted murder". He was just sentenced to 120 days.
"Convictions on such a charge result in an average 20-39 months in prison for the defendant. But in the sentencing, Superior Court Judge James Downs found that Diez’s military service, along with testimony from former colleagues about his good character, were mitigating factors, and chose to sentence him to 15-27 months instead. Downs suspended all but four months of that sentence unless Diez breaks the law again in the next 30 months."
By and large, clipping, or killing a cyclist is not punished much at all.
This one,in Florida has a small bit of hope, though it says nothing about the issue of cyclists as fair game: Hit-and-run victim was quiet and dependable, co-workers say
ST. PETERSBURG — About 11 p.m. Sept. 12, a car struck Neil Alan Smith and threw him off his bicycle on Fourth Street N. The car didn't stop.
Mr. Smith, who was pedaling home from his job as a dishwasher at the Crab Shack, struck his head on a light post.
He was taken to Bayfront Medical Center. He died there six days later. He was 48.
Police have not located the hit-and-run driver.
The obituary is a thing of wonder. He had great friends. I don't know what to say about the reason it was written.
Shortly after the St. Petersburg Times announced Mr. Smith's death on its website, a reader posted a comment stating the following: A man who is working as a dishwasher at the Crab Shack at the age of 48 is surely better off dead.
Web editors removed the comment, deeming it an offensive and insensitive insult to a dead man's friends and family. Though hardly unusual — check out the comments beneath stories about any recent tragedy — this one spurred the Times to make Mr. Smith the subject of this story, as a reminder that every life matters.
This much is certain about Mr. Smith: A number of people miss him.
And, for all that his life was more sedentary than perhaps most of us might think of as ideal, he was a person, and deserves more respect (which the writer of that obit showed).
I am pleased beyond measure that Neil Alan Smith's roommate made sure to share her fondness with him: Every year, Rogers put up a small artificial Christmas tree and decorated it. "I kind of forced him" to celebrate holidays, Rogers said. She gave him a mountain bike after his was stolen, and bought extra reflectors for his birthday. Because it was important not to wait, she gave him the reflectors Sept. 10, before his birthday.
It was two days later he was hit by the car. Those reflectors, in the grand scheme of things were a small thing, but tokens of affection are not really to be measured by what they cost; and the idea that things like that not wait says more than the sum of money. Diamonds or paste, that was love.
So yeah, I had a shitty evening, but it could have been so much worse. I was able to drink a dram of Caol Ila with Aaron, talk it out with Les. I was fine and, barring some bruising and a strained ankle, able to ride home after the car was driven badly, and generally be reminded, here and now, that people love me, and care about me.
Les called me at work to say there had been an accident with her car, and she was fine, but not out for the evening, rather she was home.
I stayed after I clocked out at work for a few minutes to talk about knives with one of the new managers (it's sort of scary the turnover at my shop. Of the staff when I left, three remain; only two of them have worked there longer than I. That's everyone, sales and management. In the kitchen it's not so bad; most of them seem to be the same).
I was almost home, making a right, when the black BMW car started to make a left. I slowed the bike down, and the driver started to stop, so I continued, and the car stared to move again. I stopped, and then tipped over.
I was, to say the least, not happy. The seat on the bike is now detached from the frame, and I was trying to right the bike. I can do it, but it was in an awkward arrangement. Which was when the woman who had been driving the BMW added insult to injury. She had pulled into the parking lot a block up, and then came back to tell me it was my fault. I wouldn't have fallen if I'd just kept going.
I tried to point out that there was no way for me to know that, but she repeated herself, "All you had to do was keep going, and you would have been fine." Then, having never left her car, she drove away, and parked again at the grocery. I, in a spot semi-hidden from the traffic, kept trying to right the bike. Some people did stop (a white woman in a print sundress, a white male in button down and tie, and a black guy in a t-shirt), and the bike was righted.
I went home. My hip was a bit sore, from landing on the GPS (which shows not a mark for the impact... me, well I'm stiff when I walk), but not physically hurt. It was when I tried to tell Les about it that I fell apart. I was a bit short of crying when I got home, and Les was grabbing a shower. When she got out I started to explain it. When I got to the part about the coming back I fell apart and just started to yell; before I got to the end of the sentence and spun out of the room. The yelling took me by at least as much surprise as it hit Les.
Yeah, I had a shitty couple of moments, but Les has had a shitty couple of days (and the problem with the car is the least of it). So she asked me to leave her be. I left the room, called Marna, who told me I'd been less then swell, but wasn't a bad person; just a person who had done a bad thing, and that it would end up over the dam, sooner or later.
So far, so good. She and Aaron have gone out, so she will have a chance to unwind (I've never yelled at myself [as if I could] but I've been told it's not pleasant. I am pretty sure it's intense, and this was explosive yelling). I have eaten now. I have drugs to ease the inflammation in my hip, the bike is fine.
None of which is really why I got the urge to write.
This happened, at root because I was not in car. The lady at the light had waited for two cars to make the turn. She decided it was fine to enter the same space because she didn't think I was able to do her damage.
It's worse for bicycles.
That's been on my mind lately. I'm a second class vehicle. They are fair game. About a year ago there was an off-duty fireman who shot a cyclist because he was upset about the guy riding with his three year old daughter in the bicycle seat behind him. Shot him in the head, as the guy was walking away from a heated conversation after the fireman had let his vehicle to yell at him.
Shot at the back of his head, then just drove away. In August the Grand Jury reduced the charge to "assault with a deadly weapon with intent to kill" from "attempted murder". He was just sentenced to 120 days.
"Convictions on such a charge result in an average 20-39 months in prison for the defendant. But in the sentencing, Superior Court Judge James Downs found that Diez’s military service, along with testimony from former colleagues about his good character, were mitigating factors, and chose to sentence him to 15-27 months instead. Downs suspended all but four months of that sentence unless Diez breaks the law again in the next 30 months."
By and large, clipping, or killing a cyclist is not punished much at all.
This one,in Florida has a small bit of hope, though it says nothing about the issue of cyclists as fair game: Hit-and-run victim was quiet and dependable, co-workers say
ST. PETERSBURG — About 11 p.m. Sept. 12, a car struck Neil Alan Smith and threw him off his bicycle on Fourth Street N. The car didn't stop.
Mr. Smith, who was pedaling home from his job as a dishwasher at the Crab Shack, struck his head on a light post.
He was taken to Bayfront Medical Center. He died there six days later. He was 48.
Police have not located the hit-and-run driver.
The obituary is a thing of wonder. He had great friends. I don't know what to say about the reason it was written.
Shortly after the St. Petersburg Times announced Mr. Smith's death on its website, a reader posted a comment stating the following: A man who is working as a dishwasher at the Crab Shack at the age of 48 is surely better off dead.
Web editors removed the comment, deeming it an offensive and insensitive insult to a dead man's friends and family. Though hardly unusual — check out the comments beneath stories about any recent tragedy — this one spurred the Times to make Mr. Smith the subject of this story, as a reminder that every life matters.
This much is certain about Mr. Smith: A number of people miss him.
And, for all that his life was more sedentary than perhaps most of us might think of as ideal, he was a person, and deserves more respect (which the writer of that obit showed).
I am pleased beyond measure that Neil Alan Smith's roommate made sure to share her fondness with him: Every year, Rogers put up a small artificial Christmas tree and decorated it. "I kind of forced him" to celebrate holidays, Rogers said. She gave him a mountain bike after his was stolen, and bought extra reflectors for his birthday. Because it was important not to wait, she gave him the reflectors Sept. 10, before his birthday.
It was two days later he was hit by the car. Those reflectors, in the grand scheme of things were a small thing, but tokens of affection are not really to be measured by what they cost; and the idea that things like that not wait says more than the sum of money. Diamonds or paste, that was love.
So yeah, I had a shitty evening, but it could have been so much worse. I was able to drink a dram of Caol Ila with Aaron, talk it out with Les. I was fine and, barring some bruising and a strained ankle, able to ride home after the car was driven badly, and generally be reminded, here and now, that people love me, and care about me.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-03 07:16 am (UTC)I'm glad you're not worse injured. But that woman in the BMW is completely freaking wrong.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-03 04:55 pm (UTC)I have to say, by and large, the people who drive BMW cars seem to not impress me. They seem to think those, "ultimate driving machines" make them some sort of magnificent driver.
Even before I took to two-wheels with motors as primary transport I wasn't all that happy with the way I saw them driven. But it was BMW being driven badly that led to me totalling my scooter, and now this.
Oh well. I'll recover, the cost of fixing the bike will be bearable, some day I'll manage to learn how to do that sort of stop and not fall over.