20041211
panic button disabled
guess what i saw as i crossed wacker drive to madison.
people hovered over something large, overturned, its engine wide open. it would have been burgundy. a jeep. it was an overturned SUV, and civilians were making sure whoever was inside... well, what can you tell someone trapped and immobile inside a wreckage.
it wasn't an air conditioner unit fallen from the top of our building, landed atop someone, now pinned to the ground. it was an upturned SUV.
my next thought was that where was the other car that did this to them? a cab, burgundy, slammed into one of our building's large black planters, dislodged it. its white air bags deflated like wilted balloons.
"they said they were on their way," a woman said to someone else. she meant emergency, 911.
i called 911 anyways. my voice was shaking, but i attributed it to the freezing december cold. it was cold. "i'd like to report an accident on madison and wacker drive?"
"let me transfer you to the fire department."
fire department? "chicago fire department."
"i'd like to report an accident on madison and wacker drive?"
"they're on their way, don't move anyone that's injured," the dispatcher clipped.
as if i knew the first thing to do in this type situation. "ok. thank you."
a little boy's cry. i turned and there was a large man who carried the boy in his arms. he turned, and there glistened the right of his face and white shirt in red blood. someone was telling him where to turn to get help. he disappeared into a black car. a woman hovered hear the destroyed SUV, she put her giftwrapped packages on the lacerated bumper. i wondered, why would you do that? would your packages be safest nearest the center of a disaster?
a couple cab drivers panicked. i couldn't understand their english through their thick african accents. something about complaining that it wasn't his fault. a sharp piece of his bumper, upturned - lots of pieces of his bumper and the nose of his car. everywhere.
i turned to get away, i wondered, is this a story? one person in the SUV they're still talking to, one man whose face was hurt, one little boy. i stood there. i never realized you could drive so fast in so tight an intersection. i turned again to get away, but i saw drops of blood on the concrete. i turned back and marched past the ruined taxi.
i was late for work. i wanted to wait around, i wanted to leave, i wanted to make sure there wasn't any more i can do that the other bystanders hadn't already done. i heard sirens. a chicago fire department ambulance pulled up. i left.
"happened not 10 minutes ago. these cab drivers - can't drive decently," the security guard said, shaking his head while writing and radioing.
there was no way my colleagues would have known about this accident unless i tell them. we sent the outgoing reporter to check it out, since i was already late for my routines. we turned up the police scanner and learned the fire department sent three amubulances. we waited.
the reporter returned with, "spectacular. i can see why you'd be late for work. but it's not a story. no one's killed, two people injured," she said.
"it would look really bizzare if we ignored an accident in our own front yard," our supervisor said.
"it's sexy for broadcast, sexy for pictures. the planter was eight feet from the lobby. i wouldn't even waste a newsminute on it. it happens all the time in the city," the reporter said.
"it will be in the 5 p.m. news," i said. i thought i sounded a little crazy when i said that, all calm and calculating. i didn't want to think what the families might be going through now. i didn't want to think how they'd be able to pay off damages and lawsuits. i didn't want to think about the little boy or why the woman placed her christmas packages on her upturned SUV. ¶ 12/11/2004 04:38:00 PM
people hovered over something large, overturned, its engine wide open. it would have been burgundy. a jeep. it was an overturned SUV, and civilians were making sure whoever was inside... well, what can you tell someone trapped and immobile inside a wreckage.
it wasn't an air conditioner unit fallen from the top of our building, landed atop someone, now pinned to the ground. it was an upturned SUV.
my next thought was that where was the other car that did this to them? a cab, burgundy, slammed into one of our building's large black planters, dislodged it. its white air bags deflated like wilted balloons.
"they said they were on their way," a woman said to someone else. she meant emergency, 911.
i called 911 anyways. my voice was shaking, but i attributed it to the freezing december cold. it was cold. "i'd like to report an accident on madison and wacker drive?"
"let me transfer you to the fire department."
fire department? "chicago fire department."
"i'd like to report an accident on madison and wacker drive?"
"they're on their way, don't move anyone that's injured," the dispatcher clipped.
as if i knew the first thing to do in this type situation. "ok. thank you."
a little boy's cry. i turned and there was a large man who carried the boy in his arms. he turned, and there glistened the right of his face and white shirt in red blood. someone was telling him where to turn to get help. he disappeared into a black car. a woman hovered hear the destroyed SUV, she put her giftwrapped packages on the lacerated bumper. i wondered, why would you do that? would your packages be safest nearest the center of a disaster?
a couple cab drivers panicked. i couldn't understand their english through their thick african accents. something about complaining that it wasn't his fault. a sharp piece of his bumper, upturned - lots of pieces of his bumper and the nose of his car. everywhere.
i turned to get away, i wondered, is this a story? one person in the SUV they're still talking to, one man whose face was hurt, one little boy. i stood there. i never realized you could drive so fast in so tight an intersection. i turned again to get away, but i saw drops of blood on the concrete. i turned back and marched past the ruined taxi.
i was late for work. i wanted to wait around, i wanted to leave, i wanted to make sure there wasn't any more i can do that the other bystanders hadn't already done. i heard sirens. a chicago fire department ambulance pulled up. i left.
"happened not 10 minutes ago. these cab drivers - can't drive decently," the security guard said, shaking his head while writing and radioing.
there was no way my colleagues would have known about this accident unless i tell them. we sent the outgoing reporter to check it out, since i was already late for my routines. we turned up the police scanner and learned the fire department sent three amubulances. we waited.
the reporter returned with, "spectacular. i can see why you'd be late for work. but it's not a story. no one's killed, two people injured," she said.
"it would look really bizzare if we ignored an accident in our own front yard," our supervisor said.
"it's sexy for broadcast, sexy for pictures. the planter was eight feet from the lobby. i wouldn't even waste a newsminute on it. it happens all the time in the city," the reporter said.
"it will be in the 5 p.m. news," i said. i thought i sounded a little crazy when i said that, all calm and calculating. i didn't want to think what the families might be going through now. i didn't want to think how they'd be able to pay off damages and lawsuits. i didn't want to think about the little boy or why the woman placed her christmas packages on her upturned SUV. ¶ 12/11/2004 04:38:00 PM
