The 250-pound hood ornament

Published on 08/27/2001 Daily Egyptian (SIUC)

Stupid people haunt me, they really do. It amazes me from day to day the people out there that manage to get out of bed everyday, get dressed and apparently leave their brain on the night stand when they head out for work, school, etc.

One such person nearly made a haunt out of me last week. I was walking from the Communications Building to Wham for a class, and stopped at the crosswalk at Chautaqua Street and Lincoln Drive. I waited for traffic to stop, and when it did I started across. I wasn't paying attention to the car next to me, keeping a suspicious eye on the other cars ahead of me. I thought that's where the danger was. Silly me.

I was half-way across the front of the first car when I felt something nudge my leg. I looked down, and was surprised to see the bumper of the car up against my leg. I figured the driver had to be a smart-assed friend playing games, and started to look toward the driver. Before I could get my head turned, I heard the engine gun and the car started forward.

At this point, I'd like to point a few things that might not be common knowledge, or readily apparent. First, I tip the scales in the neighborhood of 250 pounds. Second, that weight is fairly evenly distributed over a frame that is 74 inches in height. That's 6 feet, 2 inches. I'd say that makes me hard to miss when I'm standing a mere 4 feet in front of you. Come to think of it, the young lady driving the car DIDN'T miss me.

I did a little Fred Astaire shuffle to keep my feet in front of the car - I figured bad things would happen if they went under the car - and fell onto the hood. The car jerked to halt, and as I came around the car, the driver, a wide-eyed girl, asked, "Did I really hit you?"

Not "Are you hurt?" Not "I'm sorry." Not, "Can I finish giving you a ride somewhere?" Just, "Did I really hit you?"

Well, lady, I had trouble believing it myself. I fixed her with what my niece calls, "The Look" and screamed what some might have considered a prayer, others a blasphemy. She squealed, "I'm sorry," then squealed her tires getting the hell out of there. Perhaps I intimidated her.

No blood, no foul, as they say, so rather than report it, I limped on to class, muttering unkind things under my breath.

I did get her license plate number. I wrote it down, as a matter of fact. I'm working on finding out her name. Maybe an attorney could help me learn her name. You see, I still need to buy a whole bunch of books this semester. I could use a new laptop, too. If McDonalds can end up paying a few hundred thousand dollars for serving hot coffee, I figure my short stint as a hood ornament should be worth a couple of thousand.

On the other hand, if the guilty party were willing to come forward and save me lawyer fees, I would probably settle out of court for a few textbooks and a case of beer.

And a promise that she look IN FRONT of her car before driving through a crosswalk.