This Thursday at 6:05 pm CST, while I was crossing Washington Blvd. to get to Ogilvie Metra station, I was hit by a car.
The
light had changed, the walk light was on. I walk quickly, and was the
first pedestrian in the crosswalk. A taxi turned right in front of me,
nearly hitting me. I was not so lucky with the next car.
The white hood of the crossover-sized car (smaller than an SUV, larger than a sedan) was suddenly on my chest, and I leaned my left arm onto the hood and started screaming at the driver. I was lifted up and back, and began pounding with my left arm on his hood for him to stop driving. Which, when he did, landed me on the pavement past the crosswalk.
Miraculously, I escaped with only a pencil-eraser-sized gouge in my left pinkie finger. My fellow pedestrians began chewing out the driver, who stopped and rolled down his window. I got a photo of his license plate and started yelling at him, explaining how in the right I was and how wrong he was:
The white hood of the crossover-sized car (smaller than an SUV, larger than a sedan) was suddenly on my chest, and I leaned my left arm onto the hood and started screaming at the driver. I was lifted up and back, and began pounding with my left arm on his hood for him to stop driving. Which, when he did, landed me on the pavement past the crosswalk.
Miraculously, I escaped with only a pencil-eraser-sized gouge in my left pinkie finger. My fellow pedestrians began chewing out the driver, who stopped and rolled down his window. I got a photo of his license plate and started yelling at him, explaining how in the right I was and how wrong he was:
- me, crossing in the crosswalk with the light
- him, running me over and turning without looking
- me, red hat and bright clothes
- him, not looking while turning
- blah blah blah
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