The inevitable has finally happened. Last night, I got destroyed while riding my bike. I was on my way home from getting dinner at my local Taqueria last night ? a simple ride that I've done a number of times. Roundtrip I would say I don't go more than a mile. Well, I was riding straight along Mission headed towards Cesar Chavez. As I was coming up on a small side street, a driver either just didn't look or just didn't care that I was practically in the intersection and took a quick right, cutting me off such that my bike was driven directly into the front quarter panel of his car. I was sent flying over my handlebars, landed with a loud thud on the hood of his car, and then was thrown onto the street, where I laid dejectedly (and brokenly) until an ambulance came blaring up.
I think I was in shock as I lay there in the street. Being told not to move as I stared up at the sky, I was angry that the guy had been so careless. Angry that my bike was all messed up. And I couldn't help but wonder why there was such a sharp, shooting pain up my left arm. By the time the EMTs were standing over me, asking me all kinds of questions, there was nothing I could do but cry. How did I get here? Did I know my name? Could I feel any pain? Did I completely make this story up?
Yup, that's right. Completely 100% fabricated the story above. Do you feel betrayed? Do you think that America should know that I am a liar? Do you want to take me on your syndicated television talk show and yell at me for an hour? Yeah? Well, I only have one thing to say to you. Suckit, Oprah. ?