Doing Nothing
A man drives through town on an overcast afternoon. He has a lot on his mind, and he has been buried in these thoughts and questions for several days now. Life is both hectic and boring at the same time. Only a few weeks ago everything was moving so fast it was a blur, and now so much has stopped that it still seems blurred and some things are still moving, or need to be moving. This seems so cryptic, but it is the best way he can describe the general feeling of confusion he has. Lately it seems that the hours drag but the days fly. Today was his day to burn, to write, to focus, and to relax. He woke early, watched the sunrise, went for a hike, went to get a haircut, and now he is on his way home to write some more of the book he is working on.
He comes to the road, close to home, where they are making repairs. Son of a bitch. This just adds to the frustration he already has in his mind. It shouldn’t, he has no reason to rush home, but it does because that is the mood he is in. Frustration, like misery, loves company. He takes the detour, following the short line of cars to a four way stop sign. Before he gets there though, he hears a horn and a loud crunch-bang over the music of his radio. Great, just great. Why can’t the retarded shit-bags of this town learn to drive, or what to do at a four-way fucking stop sign? As he comes to the intersection, other cars continue driving by and he sees what has happened. A small SUV has been T-boned by another bigger SUV which smashed into its passenger side. Why does everyone need to drive a goddamn tank? A hundred thoughts and questions flash through his head as he pulls over and turns on his emergency blinkers. Cars continue to drive by, going on their way to wherever, paying little mind to the tragedy in the intersection.
As he gets out of his car and approaches the accident he sees that half a dozen people before him have come to stand and gawk at the cars, to do nothing to help. Apparently the family in the larger SUV is fine, as they have gotten out of their tank and are standing there, shaking their heads and trying to describe what happened to each other. As he approaches his mind becomes clear, sharp and decisive. A training he had almost forgotten kicks in, and blood rushes adrenaline to his heart and brain. He looks the scene over for hazards like live wires, sparks, or spilling fuel. The scene is safe.
As he walks past the onlookers he asks loudly and clearly if anyone has medical training. Nobody says anything, they continue doing nothing. There is a young man trying to look through the driver’s tinted window. “Can you see anything?” He asks. The young man says “No, it looks like just the driver, the door is locked though.” Apparently the side-impact airbags were set off and the air-pillows were blocking the young man’s view. It’s time to take control. “Has anyone called 911?” Three different women say they have. Good. He walks around to the passenger side. This door is locked too, but the window has several cracks spidering out from the point of impact. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around his arm. He smashes the window in with his elbow and reaches in to hit the unlock button.
Walking back around to the driver’s side, he pushes the young man gently aside, and opens the door. The driver is a balding man in his mid 30’s. His eyes are closed and his head is lying back against the headrest. This is good. This means the Samaritan can check vitals without having to move his neck and risk complicating a spinal injury. He wraps one hand gently around the man’s throat, to stabilize his neck, and feel for pulse and breathing. With his other hand he grabs the driver’s wrist to feel for pulse. He sees a metal plate bracelet on the wrist. Great, a diabetic with about 50 allergies. The EMT’s will have fun with this one. The driver’s heart beat is strong, a bit erratic, but healthy considering the circumstances. He takes his hand from the driver’s wrist and lightly slaps him on the cheek, while holding his head stable with the other hand.
“Hey! Asshole! Wake up! Come on buddy! You are fine! You just need to wake up!”
Another light slap to the cheek.
“Wake up, you lazy sack of shit!”
The driver opens his eyes and coughs a bit.
“Hi, buddy. You have been in an accident. I need you to not move around ok?”
The driver says ok.
“Can you hold your head still?”
Yes.
“You are in shock but I need to know if you can feel any pain”
He starts to gently probe the driver’s torso, and the driver tells him that nothing hurts. Good.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
Two?
“Right, can you do the same?”
The driver holds up two fingers.
“Now with your left hand”
The driver holds up two fingers on his left hand.
“Good job, chief! Now squeeze my hand… Good. I want you to sit still and count all the retards standing in front of your car doing nothing ok?”
The driver smiles a bit, calls him an asshole, but consents and begins counting shit-bags.
As he turns around a youngish woman is walking up from her car. She says she is a nurse and asks the baffled gawkers what is happening and what has been done. Sirens approach in the distance as he waves her over and explains to her the situation and the driver’s medical bracelet. She nods and goes to check the driver for herself. Finally, someone who isn’t utterly useless.
“He’s yours now. The ambulance will be here in a couple seconds.”
The nurse nods to him as she checks the driver’s pulse again.
He picks up his jacket and walks back to his car. He doesn’t want to be noticed. He doesn’t want handshakes or congratulations from anyone, if they would even be given. He doesn’t want any connection with any of them. He didn’t do anything really. He didn’t save anyone. As he gets in his car, two ambulances arrive. They’ll be fine. He is not without pride though. He goes home to write. He writes about this. Then he goes back to doing nothing, and thinking about everything.
… This happened.
