Completely Forgot To Post This - Cars Hit People

On Friday night around 5:45pm, I was driving home on Columbia Pike next to the high-rise apartments. I stopped at the traffic light at Scott Street, a light drizzle coming down from the heavy cloud cover. A woman wearing fairly dark clothing was crossing Columbia Pike, from north to south, at that crosswalk. Another woman, this one clad in a sedan, made a left from Scott on to Columbia Pike, hitting the walker, and sending her tumbling to the pavement.

The Bionic Woman may not be doing the ratings NBC wanted, but this woman must have been made of Jaimie Summers' spare parts. She was unhurt - how, I have no idea. The driver pulled over, and was in tears, but the walker/tumbler/Terminator assured her that she was fine.

I've never seen anybody get hit by a car before...and I certainly have never seen anybody GET UP UNSCATHED after being hit by a car, either.

I view this as a lesson - drivers need to be more careful as the early sunsets of the fall turn daylight into night rather quickly.

AND...folks may think that the all-black ensembles may make them look gorgeous, but flashing a bit of color increases the visibility, and might just save a life.

Sorry for the soapbox. I'll write something funny tomorrow.

Dear Bad Driver...

Hi. You may not remember me from our little near-collision in Arlington this morning. Actually, I'm quite sure you don't know who I am because I know you didn't see my car. Well, I shouldn't say I know you didn't see me, but I do know you didn't see the big red STOP sign that you so blythely ran, sending you scant inches away from my bumper. I'm not sure if you heard my tires squeal and my horn blare, but the people around our potential auto rendezvous did. Your mid-2000s tan SUV almost made more of an impression on me than hearing my parents have sex in their bedroom one sleepless night when I was a kid, and trust me, pal, that scarred the shit outta me.

Sounded like my mom was getting stabbed with an ice pick, and my dad was moving around a sleeper sofa. Not cool, bro.

When I spotted you again on Columbia Pike, you were laughing, though nobody else was in your vehicle. Though your rear window is far-too-heavily tinted to see through, your side window showed quite plainly that you're an officer in the United States' Army, and your Pentagon parking hang tag (which, BTW, you're not supposed to drive around with dangling from your rear view mirror. Safety violation and whatnot...) indicates that we must work in the same building.

So, you're in the Army. With all the acronyms thrown at our soldiers, I'm sure you got confused, and thought STOP meant Speeding To Obliterate Pontiacs. It actually means "stop."

Being in the Army makes you some sort of instant hero nowadays. What, with 9/11 and fighting our godless enemies and making sure we have a secure oil stream to ensure you can drive your SUV. Within the Pentagon, rank has privilege, and military law backs that up. However, on the streets, the laws of the military do not circumvent the laws of physics and traffic court. If I wasn't such a careful driver with a trigger finger for a braking foot, you'd have taken out my front end, damaged your precious SUV, and been woefully late for work.

So, please, Mr. Soldier or Army of One or Warfighter or what ever term you prefer - hit the fucking brakes and come to a complete stop.

Do it for the troops.