Born under punches
I was sitting up in my bed in the ER, thinking of how things happened, and trying to make sense of it, but of course there is no sense to make. It was fast, random, and stupid.
The facts are these. I was getting ready to meet a friend for dinner. He'd suggested a Thai place in the Greenwood area, which was ideal because it was on the D line, the express from downtown to the north end. I got off work and swung by home; I'd gotten a package, and Noel, who had work that day, had bought me a little fruit tart from Le Rive as a surprise.
I went out, caught a 2 down the hill, walked over and caught a D. It was cold, but my bus luck was strong, and I only had to wait two or three minutes for each. I got on the D and was at my destination in twenty minutes, exactly on time to get to the restaurant.
I crossed the street, crossed again, walked toward the restaurant. I could see the sign out front. There is a Domino's and a Fed Ex Office on that street. As I passed the Fed Ex, a guy leaning against the rail waiting for a bus stood, strode over to me, and punched me in the side of my head.
He was an angry looking Mexican guy, small moustache, a little shorter than me, wearing a hoodie. As I staggered back and said "What the hell?", he took another shot at me. I dodged it, crashed into him, he pushed me and I fell. He leaned down and started punching as I tried to stand. I was ducking blows, hoping he wouldn't kick me, and I was saying "What are you doing this for? I don't even know you!"
I could hear people murmuring in the background. There were a lot of people waiting at that bus stop. Naturally they didn't want to get involved. I reached up through the punches and pushed at his face, and he backed up, and I scrambled to my feet. He reeled back -- behind him the next D was pulling into the stop -- he stepped toward the doors, grabbed the comic I dropped, that I was bringing to my friend (my ill-fated screenwriter comic), jumped on the bus, and was gone. I was standing there alone at the stop.
I checked my luck. He hadn't gone for my wallet, hadn't kicked me while I was down, hadn't broken my glasses -- they were bent, though, and the left lens was scuffed. My phone was unbroken. I summoned a Lyft, then texted Noel to let her know I was coming home, then texted my friend to let him know I would need to reschedule.
The Lyft driver, when his car arrived (one minute), asked if I was OK. I was sure I was, but the reports from my body were starting to come in through the adrenaline and endorphin flood. My face felt sore. On my left hand, as I grasped my phone, the finger I broke years ago in another street incident was starting to ache. Noel was texting me, urging me to go to the ER, and I would have just gone home if not for the possibility that my finger was broken again.
So I talked the Lyft driver into picking Noel up, then driving both of us to Swedish ER. We checked in and sat to wait. My head was starting to buzz and hurt, and in the good light of the waiting area Noel noticed that my left ear was caked with drying blood.
A coincidence moment, as we waited: we were seated under the TV, and "Jeopardy" came on. There were a number of people in the waiting room, including an elderly woman and her friends. The RN came to call the woman in to be seen: "Donna Brown!" she said. A second later, Alex Trebek on the TV said "Donna Brown, from Seattle, Washington." Both Noel and I looked at each other. That actually happened! (Donna Brown, the Jeopardy contestant, is a beloved DJ and scenester here in the area. At Vermillion Bar, they had a big party that evening to watch her appear on the show. She wound up winning Final Jeopardy and walked off with $45,000, so it must have been a great party.)
They finally called me in, an hour and a half wait, not so bad, and got me settled in. They took my vitals, they looked at my abrasions and hurts. An RN with full tat sleeves on both arms swabbed out my ear, which was scraped up but no damage to the drums. I could focus, could tell the doctor what year it was, so no sign of concussion. A jolly tech rolled in a portable X-ray device and snapped images of my finger (handing me a small lead pad to put over my 'nads): no breaks, just pulled muscles.
They gave me Tylenol, forms to fill out for crime victim compensation, and information on what to do in case of concussion, and we were able to leave. Neither of us had had dinner, so we went over to Lost Lake, and I had a cheeseburger. My old zinester chum Sterling was working there, and he got us 10% off on the dinner. Noel and I were both tired -- it was almost midnight -- so we caught a Lyft home, had a hot bath, and went out like lights.
The facts are these. I was getting ready to meet a friend for dinner. He'd suggested a Thai place in the Greenwood area, which was ideal because it was on the D line, the express from downtown to the north end. I got off work and swung by home; I'd gotten a package, and Noel, who had work that day, had bought me a little fruit tart from Le Rive as a surprise.
I went out, caught a 2 down the hill, walked over and caught a D. It was cold, but my bus luck was strong, and I only had to wait two or three minutes for each. I got on the D and was at my destination in twenty minutes, exactly on time to get to the restaurant.
I crossed the street, crossed again, walked toward the restaurant. I could see the sign out front. There is a Domino's and a Fed Ex Office on that street. As I passed the Fed Ex, a guy leaning against the rail waiting for a bus stood, strode over to me, and punched me in the side of my head.
He was an angry looking Mexican guy, small moustache, a little shorter than me, wearing a hoodie. As I staggered back and said "What the hell?", he took another shot at me. I dodged it, crashed into him, he pushed me and I fell. He leaned down and started punching as I tried to stand. I was ducking blows, hoping he wouldn't kick me, and I was saying "What are you doing this for? I don't even know you!"
I could hear people murmuring in the background. There were a lot of people waiting at that bus stop. Naturally they didn't want to get involved. I reached up through the punches and pushed at his face, and he backed up, and I scrambled to my feet. He reeled back -- behind him the next D was pulling into the stop -- he stepped toward the doors, grabbed the comic I dropped, that I was bringing to my friend (my ill-fated screenwriter comic), jumped on the bus, and was gone. I was standing there alone at the stop.
I checked my luck. He hadn't gone for my wallet, hadn't kicked me while I was down, hadn't broken my glasses -- they were bent, though, and the left lens was scuffed. My phone was unbroken. I summoned a Lyft, then texted Noel to let her know I was coming home, then texted my friend to let him know I would need to reschedule.
The Lyft driver, when his car arrived (one minute), asked if I was OK. I was sure I was, but the reports from my body were starting to come in through the adrenaline and endorphin flood. My face felt sore. On my left hand, as I grasped my phone, the finger I broke years ago in another street incident was starting to ache. Noel was texting me, urging me to go to the ER, and I would have just gone home if not for the possibility that my finger was broken again.
So I talked the Lyft driver into picking Noel up, then driving both of us to Swedish ER. We checked in and sat to wait. My head was starting to buzz and hurt, and in the good light of the waiting area Noel noticed that my left ear was caked with drying blood.
A coincidence moment, as we waited: we were seated under the TV, and "Jeopardy" came on. There were a number of people in the waiting room, including an elderly woman and her friends. The RN came to call the woman in to be seen: "Donna Brown!" she said. A second later, Alex Trebek on the TV said "Donna Brown, from Seattle, Washington." Both Noel and I looked at each other. That actually happened! (Donna Brown, the Jeopardy contestant, is a beloved DJ and scenester here in the area. At Vermillion Bar, they had a big party that evening to watch her appear on the show. She wound up winning Final Jeopardy and walked off with $45,000, so it must have been a great party.)
They finally called me in, an hour and a half wait, not so bad, and got me settled in. They took my vitals, they looked at my abrasions and hurts. An RN with full tat sleeves on both arms swabbed out my ear, which was scraped up but no damage to the drums. I could focus, could tell the doctor what year it was, so no sign of concussion. A jolly tech rolled in a portable X-ray device and snapped images of my finger (handing me a small lead pad to put over my 'nads): no breaks, just pulled muscles.
They gave me Tylenol, forms to fill out for crime victim compensation, and information on what to do in case of concussion, and we were able to leave. Neither of us had had dinner, so we went over to Lost Lake, and I had a cheeseburger. My old zinester chum Sterling was working there, and he got us 10% off on the dinner. Noel and I were both tired -- it was almost midnight -- so we caught a Lyft home, had a hot bath, and went out like lights.