I wonder if the universe is trying to tell me something. I had, like, ten near-death experiences while driving last week alone, then, last night, a car crashes right in front of my apartment. Anyway, it's around midnight, and I'm talking in one of the chat rooms, when I suddenly hear this screech outside, like someone's car is skidding for serious. That's followed right away by a crash, the sound of glass splintering, and lots of other crunchy noises I can't identify but that probably don't mean anything good. So, I jump up, run over to the balcony, and look down. Sure enough, right under me, some guy and his girlfriend are getting out of what I guess was once a car but now looks like an accordion. My dad also hears the crash, because he walks into the living room, says, "Oh, good, you're in here," then turns around and goes back to his bedroom. Back to the balcony to shamelessly watch what's happening down on the road.
At first, I'm under the impression that the car just smashed into the curb, but on closer inspection, I can see that most of the damage comes from where it's rammed into a streetlamp. Pieces of the lamp are actually still crumbling onto the people while they're standing there. The girl looks calm enough--she's busy brushing streetlamp off her shirt--but the guy seems really agitated. This whole time, I'm running back and forth to the computer, reporting major developments to Tristan, DebH, and Key2. Tristan suggests that I go ask if they're okay, so I head off to do that. When I shout, "Hey, are you guys all right? Do you need any help?" the girl waves that they're okay, but the guy looks all pissed off and takes off running down the street. Hmm . . . I've started analyzing stuff and decide that this guy's sudden desire for a midnight run, and the fact that he somehow managed to swerve on a straight road and hit the lamp hard enough to accordionize his car (a feat that even I, the Patron Saint of Bad Drivers, would find impossible to accomplish) probably means that someone went to the beer hall tonight and got blasted. Anyway, I call down again and ask the girl if she needs anything. Now, she's crying, but she says no. It's back to the chat room, where I start wondering if I should call the police or something. This surge of goodwill lasts until DebH mentions that she was once a witness to an accident, and that they made her testify in court, where lawyers launched themselves at her for four years. And suddenly, well, if you really think about it, those people can probably get help for themselves . . . I feel okay about staying out of it until I log off to go to sleep.
This is when I discover that I can't sleep right now for two reasons. The first is that Jason calls with the earthshattering news that he's been trying to reach me all night, why the hell was the phone busy for four hours, and don't I know that there's wiener dog racing on Jay Leno (His girlfriend back in Hawaii gave him one before he moved, and she's taking care of it for him now. So, if you want to get technical, for Jason, dachshunds have come to symbolize love or something). The second reason is that I feel kinda guilty. The guy who was driving came back awhile ago with some other guys, but they left after twenty minutes without doing anything. Around two-thirty, the guy himself wanders off again, and the girl is sitting alone on the sidewalk. In a second, she starts yelling, "Thep! Thep!" (probably his name), and what if a rapist or a mugger comes along? I figured other people would have woken up by now and noticed, but if they have, they're not doing anything. I've gotta help. But I'd prefer to do it indirectly, just in case. In the end, I decide that it's time to bring the neighbors in. Now, my neighbors love other people's business, and my family and I have personally provided them with many hours of fine entertainment through the apartment wall, so I don't feel guilty at all about doing what I'm about to. I look them up in the directory, call them, and let the phone ring until I hear the man pick it up, at which point I hang up and run onto the balcony again. Okay, they're awake, keep yelling, girl. She doesn't let me down. She yells, "Thep! Thep!" again only a couple more times, then stops; by then, my goal has been accomplished, because the neighbors have heard everything and are now gawking over the railing of their balcony.
Two seconds later, I hear them whispering ferociously in the darkness, and in ten minutes, they're downstairs with an arsenal of drinks, blankets, and a security guard. In another five minutes, the police pull up, and all the red and blue flashing lights wake up everyone in the whole neighborhood, and I might as well have just called them myself. This morning before school, I wait innocently in the hallway until Mr. Neighbor comes out of the apartment to go to work. When I ask him what happened last night, he explains that the driver of the car was--I could think of other ways to put it, but we'll be sensitive here--under the influence of not only alcohol, but also a certain illegal substance. I put on my scandalized expression, like I'm just shocked at this, even though I was already suspecting it while old Neighbor was still fast asleep in his bed. At least this explains why the driver and his girlfriend (who, incidentally, was not drunk or stoned) didn't want any help, and didn't call the police. Ladies and gentlemen, Bangkok, Thailand. Christian ; )
