Rampant Bourgeousie, or, How I Headbutted a Maserati
1:50pm, Friday September 18th: My head leaves a sizable dent in the door of a brand new Maserati. Ten stitches and a five hour hospital stay later, I make my way home. Cool.
Okay, so that’s the short version. Slightly less short version: Dude doesn’t quite understand what a two-way stop is, rolls through it ‘til is bumper is on the yellow line of the street he’s attempting to cross. I, at considerable speed, am attempting to traverse the very street which he has so courteously parked in the middle of. Okay, fine, I’ll just go around the front of his car; there’s a good foot and a half between his bumper and the yellow line. As I go to do so, buddy decides NOW IS THE TIME TO MOOOOOOOVE, and begins to move forward, blocking my trajectory. Shit.
I lock my back wheel and being to slide, but I can tell I’m not going to stop in time. I grab a fist-full of front brake…bad idea. Over the bars I go, my head bringing the full force of its might to bear on the driver’s door panel. Ouch.
Ambulances arrive, names are taken, blood runs profusely (two days later, I still feel light-headed when I stand up…that’s how much blood I’m missing). After a ride to the hospital on a plank, with my neck in one of those collars they give people with primo whiplash, we arrive at VGH. X-rays determine there’s nothing fucked up in my neck, which is cool. Apparently my thick-ass skull prevented any sort of concussion, too. Also cool. Bad news is, my scalp kind of split open from the impact…say hello to ten stitches.
So here I sit, ten stitches in my head. In retrospect, I’m glad I decided to headbutt a Maserati, rather than, say, a Honda Accord or something. That would make for a pretty boring story.
