Someone stole my bike from the train station on Friday which prompted me to write this blog and also brought back some memories of me and my bikes over the years. The bike that got stolen was a really nice, light blue beach cruiser. I’m pretty sad about it so let me just get this off my chest; I feel confident that karma will take care of the asshole who stole my bike when they get hit by a bus while riding my bike and their blood and guts are splattered in the street. Then justice will be done!
It sadly makes me lose faith in humanity and I never had a whole lot to begin with. I asked the two security guards how it could’ve happened being that I had a really good lock and it was in the middle of the day. They responded with, “It happens every day.” Way to do your job guys!
Actually, I’ve never really have good luck with bikes.
The first bike I got was the day after my kindergarten graduation. It was cool. It had a big banana seat and chopper-style handlebars. I was five years old at the
time. I had it in front of my house and went across the street to talk to my friend, Karen, who was the same age.
So there we are, two five year olds, shootin’ the shit, and of course, she wanted to see it. So, I darted out between two parked cars just as another car was turning the corner and SPLAT! The car hit me. According to my mom, I was “lying in a pool of my own blood.” Not a puddle, a pool. You should hear my mother tell the story, she’s so dramatic.
So, there I am lying in a pool of my own blood while a crowd gathers, and a woman down the street knocked on our door to get my mom. My dad wasn’t home, and when my mom answered the door she said, “Cissie, a child has been hit by a car.” My mom, the nurse, immediately started to head out the door to help the bloody child. But the woman stopped her and said, “Cissie, it’s one of yours.” That must have been a horrible feeling for my mom. But she says she went into professional nurse mode and just took care of business.
The first thing she had to do was find where the blood was coming from, and it was my head. My forehead to be exact. Someone called an ambulance, but a paddy wagon showed up. Do they still have those? This is the one part of the whole accident that I remember. My mother was holding me in her arms inside the paddy wagon and arguing with the driver to take me to Fitzgerald Mercy hospital because that’s where she worked. The driver wanted to take me to Delaware County hospital because it was closer. So while my life was at stake, my mom is arguing with the driver and told him “If you don’t take me there, I will get out and wait for my husband.” What she didn’t say was, “Who cares if my five year old is bleeding from the head and might die, I want an employee discount.”
Anyway, she won the battle and they took me to Fitzgerald Mercy Hospital where I was laid up for a few days. I got about 20 stitches in my forehead and cracked my pelvic bone along with some cuts and bruises. I remember having a throbbing headache, which makes sense since that’s obviously what I used to damage the car. But overall it really sucked aside from the toys I got as sympathy gifts. That’s what it took to get some decent toys; getting hit by a car.
Here’s the worst part; my parents didn’t sue the lady that hit me. My dad told me years later when I questioned him on why he didn’t get some money out of it for me (okay, I got a couple of bonds but nothing big) that they (my parents), were grateful that I was alive and knew it wasn’t her fault. Isn’t that bullshit? Whose fault was it? A five year olds? That old bag probably had insurance. I could have been living comfortably on my settlement right now.
Here is a picture of the bike I had before the one that got stolen. It’s locked up downstairs.
Why hasn’t someone stolen this one? Do you want to buy it?
An edit to this story….
I remembered while I was in the shower.
A few years ago I was driving home in the rain and was only about a half mile from my apartment. I turned left at a light and all of the sudden, “BOOM!” I hit a guy on a bike!
It was so scary and was completely my fault. He was in my blind spot as I turned the corner and my window was covered with rain, so I didn’t see him at all. I jumped out, ran over, helped him up, asked him if he was okay and apologized profusely. You know what he did? He said he was fine, he wasn’t hurt and drove away on his bike. Maybe that was good karma for my parents not suing the old broad that hit me. Karma takes care of everything. (I wonder if the scumbag who stole my bike is reading this?) Remember to practice good karma.