De golpe
Yesterday I witnessed two freak accidents, only one of them which injured me.
I was crossing the street early yesterday morning (round about 7 am). I had contemplated calling a cab, thinking that since it was a dark Saturday morning I should play it safe in the empty streets. Then I walked out my front door. In reality, it was still Friday night. Teenagers and families walked around like it was Carnival. It's not that portenos are early risers. They are just late to bed...sometimes, days late. This is relevant--as I strolled out amongst the partying mobs, crossed the street to the Embassy where I had to meet my friends. Not a second after I crossed a seemingly empty intersection, a car bulleted its way where I once stood, sped through the red light and broadsided an unwitting taxi cab that was making a left turn. I was probably ten feet away from the cars as they collided and bulleted backwards, glass flying everywhere. Almost an unnecessarily dramatic crash. Thankfully, no one was hurt. The taxi driver got out and screamed at the drunk teen behind the opposing wheel. I was the only witness and had to explain what happened to the embassy security who had come out to verify the commotion. It reminds me now of a scene after a party at Jay Gatsby's house, when the drunk guests end up in the fountain (that happened not a few meters away, too--at the Spanish monument), and hallucinating drivers put their cars into a ditch. The excess and sudden violence.
The second accident was pretty cartoonish. I got tired of welding copper frames for the beams and spied the portaJohn at the opposite end of the construction site. I told my Habitat for Humanity "house leader" I was headed over, tiptoed past the Marines who were busting rocks with pick axes, and heard a loud crack as the ground below me gave me. My right leg sank into a bottomless hole and the rest of my body, still in forward motion, held me from disappearing completely. I gasped, heard cries and strong arms pull me up and onto my feet. I seriously thought my leg was broken. I shook off my hard hat and looked around. It was like a crochet garden. My friends and colleagues were unaware, laboring away on the ground, joking amongst themselves. It was another sharp jagged juxtaposition, Marines and holes on one side of the rocks, civilians and diplomats taking digital photos and chatting on the other side. Thankfully my leg was just extremely scratched up. I quickly (and discreetly) went over the First Aid station and got bandaged up, awkwardly getting back to my station, not sure whether to mention the fact that I was bleeding from the knee down and had gigantic bruises all over my thigh. Too bad I signed that waiver. I wouldn't sue Habitat, anyway. They're my favorite cause.
Though my current cause is to soothe my aching back and legs to get some sleep. The incidents yesterday scared me, to think that I'm always a second away from disaster. There by the grace of God, go I.
I was crossing the street early yesterday morning (round about 7 am). I had contemplated calling a cab, thinking that since it was a dark Saturday morning I should play it safe in the empty streets. Then I walked out my front door. In reality, it was still Friday night. Teenagers and families walked around like it was Carnival. It's not that portenos are early risers. They are just late to bed...sometimes, days late. This is relevant--as I strolled out amongst the partying mobs, crossed the street to the Embassy where I had to meet my friends. Not a second after I crossed a seemingly empty intersection, a car bulleted its way where I once stood, sped through the red light and broadsided an unwitting taxi cab that was making a left turn. I was probably ten feet away from the cars as they collided and bulleted backwards, glass flying everywhere. Almost an unnecessarily dramatic crash. Thankfully, no one was hurt. The taxi driver got out and screamed at the drunk teen behind the opposing wheel. I was the only witness and had to explain what happened to the embassy security who had come out to verify the commotion. It reminds me now of a scene after a party at Jay Gatsby's house, when the drunk guests end up in the fountain (that happened not a few meters away, too--at the Spanish monument), and hallucinating drivers put their cars into a ditch. The excess and sudden violence.
The second accident was pretty cartoonish. I got tired of welding copper frames for the beams and spied the portaJohn at the opposite end of the construction site. I told my Habitat for Humanity "house leader" I was headed over, tiptoed past the Marines who were busting rocks with pick axes, and heard a loud crack as the ground below me gave me. My right leg sank into a bottomless hole and the rest of my body, still in forward motion, held me from disappearing completely. I gasped, heard cries and strong arms pull me up and onto my feet. I seriously thought my leg was broken. I shook off my hard hat and looked around. It was like a crochet garden. My friends and colleagues were unaware, laboring away on the ground, joking amongst themselves. It was another sharp jagged juxtaposition, Marines and holes on one side of the rocks, civilians and diplomats taking digital photos and chatting on the other side. Thankfully my leg was just extremely scratched up. I quickly (and discreetly) went over the First Aid station and got bandaged up, awkwardly getting back to my station, not sure whether to mention the fact that I was bleeding from the knee down and had gigantic bruises all over my thigh. Too bad I signed that waiver. I wouldn't sue Habitat, anyway. They're my favorite cause.
Though my current cause is to soothe my aching back and legs to get some sleep. The incidents yesterday scared me, to think that I'm always a second away from disaster. There by the grace of God, go I.