Chisholm Project

Okay, kids. Sit down for story time with Daddy Ben.
I should probably be doing something right now to prepare for wedding and honeymoon, but I can't think of what I should be doing, so I blog.

There were numerous things that happened that were more life-threatening than Ben-the-rat, and since I am moved out of 9 Rotary, and since Jonny is practically moved out, no one will fear for our safety or admonish us, because the past is past!

Story #1: Drunk Driver

This happened in hmm... February? March? I dunno when.
Jonny and I had Bradley over for dinner one Friday night. J and Bradley were sitting on the couch reading the Bible and I had taken the garbage out to the side of the house. My Mexican neighbor beckons me to the fence in the backyard.
"De cheek-ens..."
He points to some chickens in their backyard. (There used to be 6 or 7)
"Los pollos", says Ben.
"Yase, de cheekens. De dog." He points at Jonny's dog.
"El perro" says Ben. I am thinking he wants an English lesson.
Then he stands there looking at me like I should know the rest of his story. But I don't. 5 minutes later, I figure out that Buck climbed the fence and ate a chicken. If you have been reading since last winter, you knew this.
Then Roberto gets a cheeken and holds him over the fence as the cheeken flaps all over the place. He points at the dog and tells me to hit the dog. Like the dog is going to understand? What am I teaching the dog? Not to pick up a chicken and dangle him over the fence? So I give Buck a pat-pat on the bum, and Buck looks confused.
"Gracias" says the neighbor.

I am walking around the front of the house to go tell Jonny that the dog eats chickens, and as I round the corner, (it is dusk, by the way) this van comes sailing down our street towards our house at about 45 mph. He runs one side of the car on the curb and CRUNCH, he hits the telephone poll in the next yard (9 and 1/2 Rotary St. Yes, there is a 9 and 1/2 Rotary St.) I am just standing there being a startled spectator, which you will see is my customary response in these situations. My fight-or-flight instincts are apparently missing.

The driver's door comes flinging open, a shady white man leaps out and starts sprinting down the street. Another white man comes rolling out screaming and yelling and holding his sides. He is saying things like "Oooh!" and "Help me!" and "Jesus!" and "Oooh, help me, Jesus!"

Bradley comes out on the porch. He sees the van. He knows the man who drives it. He hears the crying. He thinks the guy is dying. Bradley starts crying.

Shawn (a lady named Shawn, our old neighbor across the street) and her little girl and the little girl's friend were getting in the car while this happened. Her little girl is crying. Shawn is standing on the curb with her hands on her hips shaking her head at the man in the street.

Every white person on Rotary Street (previously unseen) comes out to spectate, commentate, or hyper-ventilate. They start saying things like, "Somebody, call 9-1-1!" (I don't remember who did)... and "Get him some water! He says he's thirsty" and "Don't move him, he might be paralyzed!" You know... everyone thinks they are an E.M.T. in a situation like this. But none of them notices that there are power lines laying in the street and dangling over their heads. Smarrrrt.

Me: "Hey, there are power lines down..."
Everyone else: Ignores me.

And in the midst of the Caucasian madness, Shawn intervenes. "THIS MAN IS NOT HURT!"
Man: I'm dyin'... I'm dyin'... somebody call my diddy and tell 'im I love 'im...
White lady: What's his phone number!?
Shawn: THIS MAN IS NOT HURT. I SAW IT ALL. THIS MAN IS DRUNK!
Man: 555-9999Take me Jesus, I'm comin' home! Take me! Oooohhhh!
White people touching the man's hands and feet: Can you feel this?
Man: You're breaking my back!!! AAAAAAAAH!
Shawn: I AM A NURSE. THIS MAN IS NOT HURT. GET AWAY FROM HIM!
Man: I can see the light! Ooooh! (Drama ad nauseum)

And then you have the kids standing on the curb and they are crying. And I am like, "Hmm, this is not a place for them..." So I get them inside and put on Shrek and say, "Hey kids! Let's watch Shrek!" and as soon as I go outside, they follow me again. I mean, who wants to watch Shrek when a man is allegedly dying in the street. I can't blame them.

Then about 5 (no lie, Jonny will testify, 5!) emergency vehicles show up... which was uncalled for. And the police interview the man, and between his cries he tells everyone that the pole came out of no where and that he was projected from the vehicle (door?) into the street. And Shawn, the star witness is screaming, "THIS MAN IS NOT HURT! HIS FRIEND PUSHED HIM OUT THE WAY AND HE FELL OUT THE VAN! HE IS FINE! TAKE HIS #$* TO JAIL!"

Some cops go to look for the other man, who had by then had about 15 minutes to run to the other side of Chisholm. Finally, the paramedics put the drunk man in the ambulance and took him away, and for the rest of the night we had no power because the pole snapped, and the power crews had to do their work. We walked Bradley home and then sat on the porch and watched the clean-up.

The end of Story #1. Stay tuned for #2.