Because Wall Street is a bunch of sick pups, folks like to reminisce about my vehicular homicide back in 1999. It was over ten years ago and I only killed one person. But since Wall Streeter’s are a bunch of washwomen, the story took on a life of it’s own. Wall Street’s doom and gloom network is truly impressive. Law suits, celebrity deaths, people getting fired… Everybody wants to be first in.
It’s not even a great story, but when one of my IT guys confronted me the other day (ten years later), I figured it might be time to set the record straight.
I had just moved into new house a few towns over. I was so new to the neighborhood that I would still drive to the old neighborhood to take care of errands. The situation took place on a random Friday night and like most Friday’s I was counting down the hours until I could crawl into bed and sleep off the damage from the night before. I felt like Chinese so I drove over to my old hood where I knew the food was good, picked up some take-out and headed for home.
With my box of Chinese food in the passenger seat, I was driving westbound on Sunrise Highway. It was just past dusk, so the sky was darkening and I was in the passing lane doing 70 mph like everybody else. I soon noticed that up ahead and to the right was a car with its hazard lights blinking. Since, the highway has three lanes on my side and I was in the fast lane, I couldn’t tell if the car was parked on the shoulder or just plodding along in the slow lane. Who cares right? It’s not uncommon to pass by cars with their hazards on. Why slow down? It was two lanes away.
Anyway, as I get closer to the car, it becomes obvious that it’s completely stopped – but in the slow lane. Who cares? There was sill the entire lane between us and traffic was moving – still no need to slow down. Then just as my car was approaching neck-and-neck (at 70 mph) like a fucking ghost and out of nowhere, there was the silhouette of a man standing in the middle of the center lane. WTF! I think I may have even sped up just to get the fuck away from this spook. Then it happened.
Just as I should have been clearing this douche bag – BAM, BANG, SMASH, SCREAM – followed by my “What the fuck!” In a split second I went from passing this guy to watching his body bounce up off of the front of my car and roll completely over my vehicle. Quickly I looked into my review mirror to see if he would get nailed again but unlike myself, the car behind me swerved out-of-the-way in time.
Holy shit. I threw on my signal and made my way across the highway and onto the shoulder. Once in park, I called 911, climbed out of my car and made my way back to the car I mentioned earlier. It was parked in the slow lane with its hazards still on. There was a second man. This man sat on the hood of the car staring over through the traffic at the shattered man. Who was this guy? Why did he just sit there? It was pretty intense and my adrenaline was pumping. I didn’t know what to do. By now it was pitch black and the only time you could even see the mess of a man who lay there crumpled up against the divider was when the passing headlights came up on him. I was afraid another car was about to smash the watermelon I had split open.
What to do? Part of me wanted to go try and drag him off the road – but what if I got hit? What if I made it worse? Who the fuck is this other guy and why the fuck is he just sitting there. He just sat there barefoot, on the hood of the car with his legs dangling over the front like you would if you were fishing off a dock. Finally he looked my way. I could tell immediately he was inebriated, drugs or something. Then while I was trying to figure out a way to save what’s left of his trailer park buddy… He turns towards his friend who is apparently drowning in his own blood (this I assumed from the faint gurgling sound that could only be heard between passing cars) and he shouts, “Frank! You asshole! Look what you did to yourself this time!”…. What planet was I on? Then he turns to me and confesses, “Frankie just got out of rehab so we was out celebrating, he got all fucked up, said he was going to kill himself and then he threw himself in front of your car”… then he shouted at Frank again, “Asshole!“. Fuck it man. If he wasn’t worried about his buddy then neither was I. I told him he better tell cops what he told me when they get there (and surprisingly he did).
Within 8 minutes there were 5 squad cards, 2 ambulances and the fire department. The police were very cool. While a police officer reviewed my license, registration and damage to my car, I watched as they peeled poor Frank off the ground with some big emergency medical spatula thing and handcuffed his buddy Huck Finn. This loser smashed in my grill, broke a headlight, managed to rip my passenger side mirror off and then snapped my antenna off the back before finding his way back to the g. Considering what took place and away from all the denim and bloodstains, the damage really wasn’t bad at all (I bet you didn’t know when you hit denim hard enough it can stain your car).
After only spend a couple minutes with me the cop asked if the address on my license was current. I told him it was, and then he pulled me aside, leaned in and said, “This is probably going to take a while. Don’t worry about anything. You’re OK and this is probably the best thing to ever happen to this piece of garbage. Just go home and leave a copy of the report in your mailbox.” Cool. Off I went.
Naturally I was a bit shaken. Did he have kids? A family? But during my ride home I started thinking. That asshole could have killed me. I could have swerved into the concrete divider, he could have come crashing through my windshield or I could have ended up hitting another car. By the time I got home I was over it and thanks to Officer cold-heart, my Chinese food was still warm. Fuck him. I was glad I hit him. Douche.
I didn’t officially know the man died until the seventeen recorded telephone interviews with Geico Insurance the next day. You would have thought I assassinated the president.
Anyway, that’s the story. Not something you want to do on a hung-over Friday night but not the end of the world (expect for Frankie)? At least that’s what I thought.
But I underestimated Wall Street. I forgot how dark traders could be. You’re all sick. When I came in the following Monday and started telling my story, my lights were ringing off the hook. “Did you really kill a Chinese guy?”…. “Tell me it’s true. I want to be able to say that my coverage guy killed somebody.” I remember coming back to my desk that day with my lunch and the guys had attempted to recreate the scene. They had turned all my shit (including my chair) upside down, threw my papers all around and dumped those crunchy egg noodles all over the place. Up until then, that day turned out to be the busiest day off my career. Everybody wanted to do business with the guy who killed the guy over the weekend. Wall Street is twisted. It’s over ten years later and I still get questioned. If I’m out at a Wall Street charity event, it’s not uncommon for somebody to say, “Hey Dopey, Tell him about that Chinese guy you ran over”… It’s getting old.
Two days ago one of my IT guys, who happens to be Chinese (shocker) was upgrading an application on my desktop. He kept glancing my way awkwardly and then casually asked “Hey – Is it true you killed some Chinese guy??”
It wasn’t my fault. He wasn’t Chinese… I had Chinese food in the car.
Setting the record straight,
Dopey
