Friday, July 16, 2010
Poignant Short Films: "Doored"
I've been commuting by velocipede in NYC for about four years now had surprisingly few injuries! I've (knock wood) never been brained by an out-of-control cab, I've (knock wood) never been decapitated by a random piece of renegade construction equipment, and I've (knock wood) never been successfully chased down and feasted upon by gangs of bloodthirsty teenage werewolves who live under the Williamsburg Bridge.
But one injury I've always known I was bound to sustain at one point or another, dear readers, is the one that results from being "doored." To be "doored" is to have a car door open right in your path, sending you scrambling to swerve out of the way or, alternatively, bounding into the gaping maw of an Escalade (or whatever). I've had a few close calls but have always managed to avoid the terrible doors constantly trying to eat me as I ride through the city. My luck ended last night.
I was riding on Houston Street, which no human should do. Houston Street is a series of hellmouths and gnarled protuberances whose only purpose is to make you die. I should have known better. But I needed to get to Ludlow and I was only going to have to be on Houston for a minute, so even though I knew better, I took the plunge.
It was regrettable.
I was trying to reach Ludlow and approaching the corner where stupid Katz Deli sits all smugly. I stupidly decided to ride on the right-hand side of a cab that was idling rather than go around it to the left and be devoured by an oncoming vehicle. As I thought ahead to where I should park my bike, the right-hand-side passenger door of the cab opens right in front of me. This door could not have been opened at a more perfect/tragic moment. I had nowhere to go; no choice but to scream "Whoa!" as I smashed left-arm first into the cab's jaws.
The girl getting out of the cab looked horrified and apologized and I quickly just tried to get out of the road and onto the sidewalk, where I could weep without getting hit again. I walked my bike up the sidewalk and turned down the kickstand so I could fix the brake lever that had been smashed. As I messed with the lever, a young black man walking with his friends passed me and, with a look of concern on his face, said, "Boy, you got slammed."
It was my destiny.
Looking down at my arm now I see there's a good-looking bruise coming in that is sure to be pretty sexy by tomorrow. Hot pics forthcoming once it turns the right shade of blue...
The point is, watch the above movie because it tells an important story.