I like to think I'm a firm believer in fated messengers in human form. What I mean by that is basically that we meet the people we are supposed to meet at the right times. That the people we encounter are supposed to enlighten us, though its up to us to figure out exactly what form that takes.
This is the story about how I happened to be in the wrong place at the right time in order to discover that there is some law/company regulation that requires portland city transit drivers to stop and deal with apparently health and safety emergencies if they see them....On my way home from work this afternoon (the shitty not happy fun outdoorsy kind) and I'm sitting in the front of the bus being the shitty wannabe hipster that this city turns me into and we come to a corner and I hear the driver go "oh shit thats not good" and lo and behold some dude is sort of crumpled face down at the busstop. And then the driver freaks out and is just muttering to himself about insurance or something and pacing on the sidewalk and calls his dispatch and gets back on the bus and continues to talk to himself and mutter about how he thinks maybe hes breathing (the dude, not the driver) and freak out and looks around helplessly. So he sits there and looks at us passengers, and being apathetic wannabe hipster freaky people we ignore him or sigh and wonder about the state of the city and bitch about those goddamned homelesspeople.
After a minute or two I get annoyed so I go outthere...look around, cant figure anything out...no blood, no blatantly obvious mechanism of injury no hazards. Takes awhile of me yelling at the dude and shaking and sternum noogy but he opens his eyes. another minute or so and dude says a word or too fairly incoherently. So not entirely unresponsive, but thats about as much as I'd give him. All the ABC's in order, airway breathing circulation, which as really as far as I'd thought when I got off the bus. Just instinct, I figured I could start CPR if I had to. Thats literally as far as I thought. Another 30 seconds or so and I figure he doesnt speak english. Then picture me trying to asses the guy in spanish. Which i speak (not). The guy doesnt even smell like booze, just has really really dialated pupils. So I keep the guy talking (or swearing at me in spanish as the case may be) and try to convince him not to move for another minute or so (in less than acomplished spanish), till the bus driver starts yelling at me about being off schedule and all my shit and my laptop is on the back of the bus and the driver says the paramedics are coming so I leave him and get back on the bus.
And now I feel like a tool. I should have stayed until the paramedics got there. I know I didnt have to do anything...being the front country and all... I but cant stop thinking about the guy. Just the way that he looked at me. I wish I knew how it ended up, I wish I'd stayed there to find out. I wish I was better under fire sometimes.
More than that, I wish I knew what this guy was sent to tell me. What I'm supposed to get out of the whole adventure. People hit you only when you open yourself to receive what ever they're trying to teach you. What was this guy supposed to teach me?
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1 comment:
Sounds to me like you were the best under fire of a whole busload of people.
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