Hip Side Crash

So, I’m hanging out in my apt, fresh off another fight with my girlfriend—nothing bad, it happens a lot with her, she’s cool—when I decide to go to the wine bar down the street to try a new Belgian blanc and talk to my friends, who happen to tend the bar.

I’m walking WITH the light on 68^th St when out of nowhere, headlights flood my vision. In a flash I take a defensive position, as if guarding against an explosion. Before I can get down, and while in the street, I feel the steel of momentum hitting me almost right on my left ass. I look up just in time—in slow motion, mind you—to see an old Subaru wagon engulfing me while hearing a deafening screech. The wagon stopped. My ass was on the fender. A 17-year old dude was behind the wheel. He had the good grace to lower the hip-hop from volume 12 down to 4 while he got out of the car begging me not to tell his Mom. I hop off the hood, straighten my tie and jacket and make sure my phone and wallet are where they’re supposed to be. Everything is in place. The only thing out of place is this little kid’s dignity. And, temporarily, my sense of direction. Rumor has it that my girlfriend is warming to me at the wine bar, ultimately to my right. North. I walk around his car, more to make sure I’m not broken than anything else, and then give him the speech:

“Jersey Plates? Yo, bro, no right on red in the city. How did you get this far into town? Don’t you know that everyone from Jersey or Connecticut practices city driving in the daytime or nighttime, but never during showtime?” Then, “Where the hell are you going on 67^th and Amsterdam, anyway? There is literally nothing here but two bodegas, an Apple Store and a Duane Reade.”

Turns out he’s lost. Thinks he’s going south on the eastside. I told him to make a U-turn onto Broadway and don’t stop until you hit water. And if you see the Statue of Liberty, make a left.

Dealt out all this good advice and good karma. Could have had him busted in so many ways (weed, booze, underage, friends, etc…) But I was that dude once. Though never in a car during showtime with contraband.

All I have to show for it is a huge purple bruise on my left hip. Close enough to my ass that I can say I broke my ass this weekend to help a little dude find his way around a logical grid (until the Village, of course.) And if you see a woman holding a torch for me, tell her I’m still on my way.