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WELCOME, WELCOME 2012!!!

1-1-12                  5:30am

Well, Well, Well…it’s the new year and I really haven’t been to sleep – even though I went to bed about 11pm on New Year’s Eve (that’s right, no champagne or a Dick Clark Rock in’ New Year’s Eve hosted by Ryan Seacrest).

In the wee hours of this first day of 2012, I’ll tell you what started my new year…

It began while trying to fall asleep thinking about why idiots like to shoot off guns on NYE. Don’t they know the bullets they shoot in the air have to come down somewhere? Hopefully not in my apartment! Or me, or Berkeley (my stressed, 20lb. cat). So, of course, the blasting began at midnight, and with my eyes closed, I was awake (while Berkeley jumped off the bed to run and hide) wondering when a bullet would come whizzing into my apartment, I mean I am on the top floor, of a five story building, facing the street, coming out of an ‘Indy 500’-like curve, at the top of a fully residential hill.

After reasoning with myself and calming down – you know, ‘whatever happens, happens,’ – I closed my now open eyes and actually drifted off into a fitful half sleep, despite Berkeley jumping back on the bed, as I turned over.

THEN!!!

Squealing tires from a car trying too hard to slow down while driving much too fast coming out of that Indy 500 curve followed by me steeling myself against the anticipated incredibly loud and close sound of metal slamming into metal. I’m now fully awake, fumbling with the cell phone trying to dial ‘911,’ as I look out my bedroom window. Between the crazy gunshots and this loud crash, Berkeley is off the bed, running into the living room.

“God, I hope no one’s hurt,”

 I say to myself as I see a mid-size silver sedan that has jack knifed from my side of the street, coming up the hill, to the other side of the street, facing down hill, after it has smashed into the parked white pick-up truck which is now facing the house it was parked in front of, half in the street, half across the sidewalk.

“Well Happy New Year to you…Holy shit!” I say aloud.

        

Two people in the sedan are talking VERY LOUDLY, one’s trying to start the car and drive it – away, I presume, but the car is not cooperating. The 911 Operator has finally come on, after keeping me on hold (it IS New Years don’t forget). While I give my details and describe the scene, the driver has gotten out of the car and is trying to push it away, followed by the passenger walking around the car to help push from an open door.

The car is not moving.

Their argument/loud discussion continues – it’s obvious they’ve been drinking a tad. I hang up with the 911 Operator as someone crosses over from my side of the street, towards the 2 still fooling with the car. They start gathering up their stuff from the car as this person approaches.

Where are the cops and is this guy approaching them the truck’s owner?

No. He’s not. He owns the car parked behind the truck – or where the truck was parked before the crash. So, while the sedan folks are busy getting ready to bolt, our new guest tells them that the police have been called, will be there shortly, and let’s them know who he is, why he’s there, and where they think they’re going cause the cops will be here any minute.

I call 911 again to let them know the “suspects” are about to flee the scene, as they have now crossed the street away from the accident while one goes up the street and the other climbs up the hill in front of my building. Where she’s going I have no idea, you need a key to get inside.

At that point, sirens and lights blazing, the 1^st police car arrives. As the car stops, the driver jumps out, assessing the situation as the other car owner tells him what’s happening…

“Those two across the street are leaving and they caused the accident!”

“Hey you two! Stop right there!” the officer says, “Where do you think you’re going?”

They pretend he’s not there and keep on moving away.

“STOP!!!” He tries again. “Come back here, now!”

They stop. Partial reality has kicked in. At least they’re not moving away anymore as they slowly start to cross the street to the officer and the squad car. But of course not before the one who was headed for my building tries to shove one of the shoes she’s removed into the officer’s face.

WRONG.

He’s not playing, and puts her in the back seat of the squad car while the other one decides she can slip away now, until he tells her to,

“Get back here and get in the car! Let’s talk.”

With a full back seat, the officer then turns his attention back to the owner of the car parked behind the truck. At this point the 2^nd squad car arrives, and everyone is brought up to speed.

After hearing several versions of what transpired and wondering if I should get dressed and go downstairs to join the confusion, I decide to stay out of it, 911 has my contact info, if they need another opinion they know how to reach me. I’m goin’ to bed or am going to try to, considering the flashing lights, the loud talking with comments from the peanut gallery in my building, the traffic, and whatever additional foolishness is or will transpire at around 2am on New Years morning.

I crawl into bed and get comfortable. Just as I’m ready to finally nod off into dreamland and after Berkeley has decided to jump back on the bed – that’s 20lbs of a not light or subtle cat who is none too thrilled at being continually roused from his reverie this AM.

Oh my. The owner of the truck has finally arrived and he’s not happy.

He cannot understand, is incredulous as to how his truck got into the position it’s in from where it was.

“But, how?  But, how?” He keeps repeating.

Through the course of the conversation, it’s discovered that he’s going through a rough patch – like a good portion of America – and his whole world is wrapped up in that truck which is still straddling the sidewalk into the street.

“That truck is everything for me. I ain’t got nothin’ without that truck!! No job, no money! Nothin’!!!”

His anger at his situation eventually causes him to breakdown in tears. Watching a grown man cry is unsettling to say the least. Hearing a grown man cry is sobering.

“I just wanna go home!” he cries repeatedly as a friend from across the street who has come to his aid (could be his wife or a girlfriend) tries to comfort him.

And of course the two fools who started everything are talkin’ trash from the back seat of the 1^st squad car while the 1^st officer is trying to calm down the truck owner. F--- bombs are flying and the 2^nd officer is trying to shut down the noise from the back seat.

What a way to start the New Year.

It can only go up from here: no one got hurt; Tweedeldee and Tweedeldum will have to pay; the truck owner is actually able to move his vehicle, it’s drivable despite the front end damage, he parks it further back up the street; and OMG, I can go to sleep.

Not.

The tow truck is here to remove the car.

But what the hell, it’s a new day, a new year, and soon I can go to sleep. I can sleep all day if I want to, it’s January 1, a Sunday. As I write all of this down, the sun’s coming up on a glorious day. It’s not unseasonably mild outside anymore, it’s COLD. We may even have snow soon.

Oh well. Welcome, Welcome 2012. I’m going to sleep now…if only Berkeley would stop caterwauling.

Good Morning!

Pam Thomas

1/1/12

9:07 AM