Sunday, November 27, 2005

In Need of Medical Attention

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I was walking along Bloor West last night and noticed an older man ranting on the sidewalk a few metres ahead of me.

The plan was to do what I always do whenever I come across this sort of obstacle; walk past them while ignoring them outright. If Crazy Guy addresses me in any way (whether it's to say hello or to say something creepy and/or misogynistic), I nod cheerfully and pick up the pace.

When I got closer to the man, however, I realized he wasn't crazy. He was just drunk and really angry. And rightfully so! The guy had a huge gash on his forehead, and was dripping blood all over the pavement. Either he had fallen or someone had clocked him in the head with a bottle or something. He looked pretty damaged.

No one was doing anything. No one even seemed particularly concerned.

I side-stepped Massive Headwound Harry and walked about half a block away from the scene while dialing 911 on my cellphone. I told the nice dispatcher man about the poor drunken mess. Harry was conscious and breathing (obviously), but he was far from lucid, and I was worried he might pass out or maybe even hurt someone. I kept an eye on him, but I lost him a minute or two before I saw the ambulance arrive.

Fast forward to later in the night. I am walking along Clinton St. and am soused (after a pathetic 2.5 beers, I think. Surgery seriously put a dent in my already low alcohol tolerance). Drunk to the point where I am talking to myself and spitting a little and saying all kinds of swears. Suddenly, I hear breaking glass to my immediate left. This is not the sound of a rock or bottle being thrown through a window. This is the sound of someone smashing glass repeatedly. This is the sound of breaking and entering.

What did I do? Did I call 911?

No way, Jose. I motherfucking RAN.

I ran three blocks in my new hurty boots on icy sidewalks while drunk off my ass.

I did not look back. I did not even think to remember the house number.

My sincere apologies to the homeowners on Clinton Street, but one 911 call per night more than meets my quota.

(Now playing: "(She Said) You're Such a Stupid Idiot", Local Rabbits)


Blogger lindsay said...

i see you've picked up "you can't touch this." GOOD CALL!

12:58 PM  
Anonymous Benjamin said...

Good for you for calling the first time though, since obviously no one else was doing anything.

(ps: the word verification for this comment is a series of Vs and Ws smooshed together. Shall we take bets on whether or not I pass the verification on the first try?)

1:18 PM  
Blogger Sofi said...

Lindsay: I actually just dug out the Rabbits tape you made me way back in '98. Can you even get that CD anymore?

6:25 PM  
Anonymous Amber said...

Hey Sofi! Thanks for making it out to my birthday... even with all the drama. You're a sweetheart!

12:55 PM  
Blogger sully said...

The second you start being a superhero it's like suddenly banks are being robbed in your vicinity, muggings occur on the other block, kids lose their balloons and grannies need help getting down those curbs and across the crosswalk. You become like a magnet for ne'er-do-wells with your do-gooding. I think it's good that you balanced out your proaction with a reaction.

See you on the 10th!

3:04 PM  
Blogger lindsay said...

you can get it here...

maybe at hmv, too, i'm not sure. rabbits rule.

9:12 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Your cousin got robbed a mere week and a half ago. Shame...

1:12 PM  
Blogger Sofi said...

I knowwww. I felt ever-so-guilty.

I did not take a bite out of crime.

McGruff would be disappointed.

10:31 PM  

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