As some of you know, SuperMilkChan is quite the Good Samaritan. Unfortunately, my Good Samaritan-ing has not been limited to helping little old ladies cross the street or giving up my seat on the bus to an elderly citizen. I have, for the past eight months been at the scene of events that leave scars and bruises and the like.
On Friday, for instance, on my way out of the gym, I saw a guy take a header off his bike (well, actually I saw him just after he'd gone down) at Columbus Circle. It was actually a little frightening for a few moments because he wasn't moving and there was a lovely spattering of that red juice that keeps us alive on the pavement. Naturally, I had to rush over to help. This time, however, I wasn't alone in my efforts to assist (as is usually the case)...at least eight people pretended to care (read: wanted to get close enough to view the gore for themselves) and several even called 911. Turns out that some metal poles (probably from the construction site nearby) had ended up in the road and couldn't be seen until AFTER they worked their evil magic. They may even have been someone's minions - I don't know. I do know that they weren't mine since (a) mine still haven't arrived; (2) my minions would only work their evil magic to inure to my benefit, not to harm some innocent bike rider; and (D) my minions are of the winged variety, anyway.
Fortunately, there happened to be some cops on traffic patrol nearby, although they took their sweet time walking over to where we were (you'd think that a crowd of 10 people standing in the middle of the street would draw a faster response). Poor Mike could've died by then. Yeah, his name was Mike. I found that out when the other "interested" parties drifted off (including the obnoxious German tourists who took a freakin' picture of the kid on the ground) and he expressed his gratitude at my kindness and wanted to know my name. If he hadn't asked for a cigarette, I mighta had a new boyfriend. He was cute in that "I just fell off my bike and I'm bleeding" kind of way and he had the prettiest eyes. But I don't do smokers. Grosses me out. Anyway, after the fire department showed up (I know, I know...why a fire truck instead of an ambulance?), I bade him farewell and went on my way.
Moral of the story: If you nearly die taking a header off your bike in Manhattan, you will end up on some German tourists' slide show for his friends back home.
