Another Domino's Post!

So whenever Mark and I do laundry I always bring a book to read. The problem is I never get any reading done because the laundromat is, like, sensory overload central. There are bright lights, buzzing machines, lots of weird neighborhood people (a sad-looking man doing laundry alone, or someone with massive tons of laundry: where do they keep all those dirty clothes at home?, people doing laundry in their very obvious 'house-clothes' even though you have to actually go out in public to do the laundry, do they fold out of the dryer or just dump in a bag, etc.), and the place is right on Broadway so there are tons of passersbys.

So anyway, we were doing laundry at our preferred laundromat on Broadway and Academy, and as the clothes were washing and drying we sat out on the lawn chairs that had been set out on the sidewalk, because I wanted to get my outdoor-people-watching groove on. After about 50 minutes I recall a white sedan, parked, just off to the right in my viewpoint because I was looking left. I remember hearing a loud thud, or thump. A strange noise. The sound of impact but not a bang.

So many things happened simultaneously because of how quick it all occurred:
I turned my head and saw the white sedan rocking and a bicycle helmet flying to the ground.
I think that the sedan got hit from behind because of the way it's rocking.
I realize the car behind the sedan is parked and has a good amount of space between the bumpers.
The driver of the sedan is half-out of his car and there is a very dazed Domino's guy standing very close next to him.
The girlfriend of the sedan driver is waving napkins to him through the window.

It suddenly becomes very clear that the sedan driver opened his car door at the exact minute the delivery biker was zipping past him and the dreaded car door/biker crash occurred. The sedan driver is walking around to the passenger side of the car asking his girlfriend (in Spanish) for the towel. I need the towel. Right behind him is the biker and his fist is gushing blood. I'm actually shocked by how much it was dripping.

The killer irony of all this is that the delivery guy was just a half-block away from being back at Domino's. I actually walk up to the biker to see if he wants me to go down to Domino's to tell them that he's been hurt and he says no. I see all the blood on the asphalt and, again, I'm shocked at how much blood there is from a probably shattered fist. And the biker looks pretty damned shocked too.

Eventually the cops show up, a big unattractive chick and a very red-skinned, Irish-looking dude who lights up a cigarette as he listens to everyone's story. Super professional, that NYPD.

Apparently there is another car that the biker must've fell into who was standing at the red light. His rear passenger door has been all scratched and dented from the bike and he's sticking around probably to get his fair share of insurance help. Plus Latin people love their cars way too much. He's not going to shrug off a scratch. He's gonna stick around and bitch about it.
As a matter of fact as the biker sits in the recently arrived ambulance and the cops are talking to him the sedan driver and the scratched door driver start to get into it and get yelled at by Smoker Cop. Sadly, they only spoke Spanish and since we all know my parents let me down by not raising a bilingual Jamie, I have no idea if there was blame being laid down or what...sigh.

Anyway, I felt really bad for the biker. I mean, you deliver pizzas by bike in an aggressive-driver city. You probably get paid shit and who knows how many of these ass-wipes who order the pizza are tipping you? One wonders if you have medical insurance, if you can afford any rehab your hand might need and if you'll get your job back once you've healed. Also, since it was only around 1pm he couldn't have been on shift that long so he probably didn't make any money that day.

The only plus to this situation is I now have a new NYC: I Once Saw This Happen story. My dad has a lot of those.