Anti-Press Express

Getting hit by an oversized pickup truck while using a sidewalk is a great learning experience. You’ll soon learn how many real friends you have.

Keep in mind that I have done favors for friends in the past, from listening to their problems to giving them a ride somewhere when I owned a car.

After surviving the torture chamber masquerading as an emergency room at the hospital, I’m kinda limited in what I can do. The day after the accident I left a couple of messages on a friend’s machine. I just said I needed a favor.

That evening I was able to get the friend on the phone, around 7:30 PM. I asked her if she could give me a quick lift somewhere if she wasn’t busy. It would only take half-an-hour, if that, including travel and waiting time. She said she couldn’t help me: she was preoccupied with ironing her clothes for work tomorrow.

Today I spoke with someone at a downtown café who also doesn’t get around town by car; he walks everywhere. I wanted to let him know about my accident, in part because he passes through the same area where I was hit and thrown. He immediately launched into the latest news about himself, apparently not noticing my stiffness and discomfort. He went on about stuff I had already heard about five times before, his latest published work, what it was, where it was published, how many words it was, etc., etc., to the nth degree.

I got up from the table, telling him I had to leave because my back was tightening up from sitting too long. (One of the pleasurable aftereffects from being almost crushed under a truck.) I briefly mentioned to him my accident. He acted as if I was leaving because I had a slight cold. I suspect he was upset that I didn’t let him finish repeating his same routine ad nauseam.

Apparently telling “friends” that you have survived a potentially crippling/fatal accident involving a truck driving straight into you doesn’t mean anything nowadays. It’s just part of society’s changing mores.

So how many “friends” do you have?