On multiple occasions I have run over people with my car and kept going, but in my defense, driving into pedestrians is scary and traumatizing!
The first person that I ran over, deserved it, because he didn’t honor his side of a drug deal and by running toward my car, like a psycho, he actually forced me to run him over. So, my conscience is definitely clear on that one.
However, hitting the second pedestrian was a complete accident: I was leaving a restaurant to drive my friend, Phillip, home and I had no idea that I had accidentally put my car in reverse.
So, when I shoved the gas pedal into the floor to get out into traffic, the car launched backwards, screeching. Then, I heard this loud banging coming from the roof of my car.
Moments earlier, I had observed a guy emerge from a bus and walk behind my car. So, when I first heard him banging on the roof, I assumed that he was one of those do-gooders, that is always making themselves feel better by pointing out other people's inadequacies and taking the moral high ground.
I became offended that he jumped onto the trunk of my car to attack my roof, just because I put the car in the wrong gear and I was worried that he might be crazy. So, I shoved the shifter into drive and flung that guy off my car.
“Why the fuck was that guy hitting my car!” I screamed.
Phillip replied slowly, with a judgmental tone: “You did just hit him...”
“What do you mean?... Did I really just hit that guy?”
“Dude!... You fuckin rocked him!... He went flying up on the trunk!”
“No... I didn’t hit him, he punched my car for no reason.” I said in disbelief.
I’m not sure if it was the stress, panic or my state of denial, but I instantly began laughing like a sadistic maniac. I could feel the judgmental rays beaming from Phillip’s eyes every time he looked at me and then I heard him mutter: “This isn’t funny! I’m never going to ride with you again.” Then he turned to stare out of the window.
After maybe five minutes, I finally stopped laughing as the reality sank in and I began imagining what that poor pedestrian’s life was like:
I could tell by his dingy work clothes that he had a wife and two young daughters waiting at home, while he slaved away each day, working two jobs that barely fed and put a roof over their heads. It was obvious that he had modest dreams of moving from the ghetto and into a nice house in suburbia with a dog and a picket fence, but deep down he knew that none of this would ever come true.
Every time he saw his eldest daughter wearing her worn, faded blue dress, he felt like a failure and this drove him to work as late as possible, just so that he could look her in the eye. Then, after a sixteen hour day, while getting off the bus to rush home to hug his daughters, before their bedtime, some asshole ran him over. I began to feel extremely guilty.
I turned to Phillip and asked somberly, “Do you think I hurt that guy?”
Phillip raged with contempt, “What do you think? You hit him with your fucking car!”
I felt utterly deflated as I asked: “Do you think he’s hurt bad?”
“Yes he’s hurt! You just fucked him up!” Phillip was incredulous.
Ready to accept my fate, I turned to Phillip for advice: “Do you think we should go back?”
Phillip responded with a serious, even tone: “You just did a hit and run, you can’t go back now… And he’s probably fine, you just tapped him and he fell off the trunk a little, so he’s fine.”
At the time, I was out on bond, so I found Phillip’s words comforting and I wasn’t aware that Phillip had warrants, so I continued to flee.
This was the last pedestrian I ever hit, but it wasn’t my last hit-and-run: the problem is that I can’t turn my neck very far and my depth perception sucks; I also have a mild form of HPPD which causes me to hallucinate while driving at night.
So, I have decided to only use public transport while in Britain, due to my driving history and the endless roundabouts.
I’ll save the driving for when I return to the US.
