As a (mostly) law-abiding and (mostly) moral citizen, I don’t normally do things like nail men with cars and then drive away, but there was this one time that I pretty much did. This story is one that I often like to pull out when someone asks for something interesting that has happened to me (I was clearly the victim here), so I figured I’d document it.
Foremost, I’d like to clarify that since this incident, I have not run over a single person and, in fact, no longer even have a car. I sold the adventure van to a nice family last weekend; a woman who might take ‘soccer mom’ as more of a compliment than I do as a single, twenty-something.
The story begins on a late spring night, my friend and I, a couple of 18 year old kids, driving through the one reasonably-sized town in FarmVille, South Jersey. Not two minutes after ending my rant on how the jaywalkers in that particular city run rampant, our attention was captured, albeit late, by a man darting across the road. Brakes squealed, flesh thumped against the Ford Taurus bumper, and the man was left a silent heap on the passenger side of the car.*
But that’s the boring part.
For a few moments, my friend hyperventilated in the driver seat, pondering this man’s life and his own future, and I sat in disbelief, wrapping my head around recent events. While we stared at each other, mouths gaping, another man, who I remember as a fit blonde with a crew cut and terminator shades (this description may be a fabrication of my own imagination), jumped and slid over the car’s front, leaving silver button trails across the once red hood; this was the only damage suffered by any extension of my friend and myself. After flying off the right side of the car, Schwarzenegger jumped on top of the man-heap (who was starting to regain his bearings), and pushed a handgun to the back of his head.
That’s the exciting part.
My heart nearly exploded as the man-heap reached for his back pocket, mumbling something about his ID, and I began pleading with my friend to position the car in some place where I was less likely to be shot. Suffering from some kind of aftershock, he felt that his being charged with a “hit and run” would somehow be worse than my losing a life (which I argued may very possibly be the only one I have.) Schwarzenegger intimidated the man-heap out of his apparent attempts to begin a shootout and I sat, watching it unfold not three feet from my face, feeling much like a duck who was sitting, and whined, doing my best to shrink and melt and become one with my car seat.
And then the cops came.
As it was explained to me by officer #2, Schwarzenegger was an undercover cop; man-heap, a fleeing hit and run driver (karma’s a bitch.) We watched the police haul the limping perpetrator away, and without any questioning, information written down, or even introductions, really, my friend and I were dismissed from the scene.
So we left. And while everyone we associated with heard of it a lot in the coming weeks, we never heard of it again; it’s a mystery what became of the man-heap and Schwarzenegger. Sometimes, though, when the moon is full, late at night, near the end of May, as you drive through that same town, you too will find the opportunity to narrowly escape hitting a man who has dashed into the street.**
*I don’t want to ruin the excitement here, but we were only going 30 mph. The man-heap isn’t dead or anything, so don’t worry.
**Also possible throughout most other phases of the moon, days of the year, and times of day.
Brittany Behrman wrote this post from the comfort of her home, sitting on a new rug, purchased from Ikea. Read about B2 in the Contributor Section of the site.