Friday before last, I jumped a Metra train to Joliet. I was meeting up with Sean, who had taken the car out to the burbs earlier in the day, and was picking me up so that we could drive directly to the track to see qualifying. I popped out of my building at 12:58 pm (gotta love summer hours at work), and hailed the first cab that came into view.
5 blocks later, I was holding my head in my hands and speaking with city police. The cab had hit (and been hit) sideways by another cab who cut him off. Instead of braking to avoid the impact, my cabbie just drove on through. I was wondering who would win the game of "chicken" when we collided. My seatbelt failed to lock up, and I pitched forward and slammed my head into the plexiglass partition.
Ummm, ouch?!
The cabbie didn't seem phased. He said coolly to me, "These things happen."
In my eagerness to make my train, I rushed through conversations with the police that arrived onsite, assured them that I wasn't going to press charges, and convinced them that I was fit to leave the scene of the accident.
The authorities work pretty quickly when the crash is blocking 3 lanes of Michigan Avenue, and the weekend tourists are starting to gather and take photos.
Other than a super intense headache that followed me into dinnertime, I make it out of the incident unscathed. But if you ever see a cabbie (if that a-hole actually manages to get his license back) with tacky, blue-shaded, fake Oakleys and a very thick, eastern european accent...find another cab.
5 blocks later, I was holding my head in my hands and speaking with city police. The cab had hit (and been hit) sideways by another cab who cut him off. Instead of braking to avoid the impact, my cabbie just drove on through. I was wondering who would win the game of "chicken" when we collided. My seatbelt failed to lock up, and I pitched forward and slammed my head into the plexiglass partition.
Ummm, ouch?!
The cabbie didn't seem phased. He said coolly to me, "These things happen."
In my eagerness to make my train, I rushed through conversations with the police that arrived onsite, assured them that I wasn't going to press charges, and convinced them that I was fit to leave the scene of the accident.
The authorities work pretty quickly when the crash is blocking 3 lanes of Michigan Avenue, and the weekend tourists are starting to gather and take photos.
Other than a super intense headache that followed me into dinnertime, I make it out of the incident unscathed. But if you ever see a cabbie (if that a-hole actually manages to get his license back) with tacky, blue-shaded, fake Oakleys and a very thick, eastern european accent...find another cab.
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