The Hit and Run That Wasn’t (But Maybe Was)
It all started with a simple mission: coffee. A mission we’ve completed countless times without issue. But in New York City, the line between “routine” and “disaster” is thinner than the Wi-Fi signal in Mark’s apartment.
Me: “Why do we always have to meet at the world’s tiniest coffee shop during rush hour?”
Sophie: “It’s not rush hour; it’s brunch hour. Totally different vibe.”
Chaz: “Also, they have oat milk! Gotta fuel up before leg day! ✌️💪”
I roll my eyes, but Chaz is already bouncing with energy, oblivious to my sarcastic dismay. Tessa, meanwhile, is scanning the street like a hawk.
Tessa: “You guys ever notice how people jaywalk way too casually around here? Like, do they not realize there are cars?”
Mark: staring into his phone “I just saw a dog riding a skateboard, so I’m having a good day.”
We’re standing on the corner, waiting for the light to change, when it happens.
A car speeds by. A screech. A thud. A flurry of gasps from the bystanders. Someone’s iced latte goes flying, and it’s not looking good.
Tessa: gasping “Oh my God! That was definitely a hit-and-run!”
Me: “Was it though? Because I feel like the guy just kind of… tapped the bumper? It’s more like a bump and a brisk jog.”
Chaz: “Did you see that though? That dude ran like he’s training for a marathon!”
Mark: still on his phone “What’s happening?”
Now, let me clarify: the pedestrian definitely made contact with the car, but it was more of a “New York kiss,” as in, “hey, I’m walking here, and I refuse to acknowledge the existence of traffic laws.” But we all freeze like we’ve just witnessed a mafia hit.
Enter the awkward part: we’re not alone. A small crowd has gathered around us, and everyone’s looking at me like I should do something.
Sophie: “Should someone call 911?”
Me: panic rising “For what? For jaywalking? Or for the fact that we’re now all collectively involved in some sort of legal situation? What’s the protocol here?”
At this point, the pedestrian—who is very much not dead—stands up, brushes off his coat, and gives the car a middle finger. New York, am I right?
Tessa: “That was definitely still a crime. Right? Right?”
Mark: not looking up “I think it depends. Did they use their turn signal?”
The driver, perhaps sensing that their “bump and jog” has attracted too much attention, speeds off again. The pedestrian limps dramatically toward the sidewalk, where he spots us watching him. And now, we’re trapped in a new kind of nightmare: social interaction.
Pedestrian: pointing at us “You saw that, right? That guy hit me! You’re all witnesses.”
Me: internally screaming “Yup. Totally. Witnesses.”
Chaz: way too enthusiastically “We saw the whole thing, bro! You good? Need me to help you flex through this pain?”
Pedestrian: “Uh, no… but I’ll take your names and numbers, just in case.”
Tessa: whispering “We can’t give him our numbers. That’s like… a permanent invitation for future awkward interactions!”
Me: desperately “We could… fake our own deaths?”
But before we can come up with a viable escape plan, Sophie—calm, level-headed Sophie—steps in.
Sophie: “Look, it was more of a light bump, honestly. We can corroborate that you’re alive and kicking. But if you’re thinking of filing a report… I’m a lawyer. I can tell you that the odds of winning are about as slim as finding a clean seat on the subway.”
Pedestrian: confused “Are you saying I shouldn’t sue?”
Sophie: with a smile “I’m saying you should go get yourself a free coffee from that barista who feels guilty for spilling your drink during the commotion. Call it even.”
The guy thinks about it, clearly weighing his desire for vengeance against the promise of caffeine. Finally, he shrugs, gives us a thumbs-up, and limps toward the coffee shop.
Me: sigh of relief “Well, that was… something.”
Mark: finally looks up “Wait, did I miss something?”
Tessa: glaring “Yes, Mark. You missed literally everything.”
As we walk away, I can’t help but wonder why our lives are so consistently derailed by random events. Just once, I’d like to get a coffee without being roped into someone’s bizarre legal drama. But then again, where’s the fun in that?
Chaz: “Hey, do you think that guy’s gonna go viral for surviving a hit and run? I mean, if he gets famous, we could totally be those witnesses on a podcast!”
Me: “And that is how we die, Chaz. Slowly. From secondhand embarrassment.”
Life Lesson: If you’re ever unsure whether you’ve witnessed a crime, remember this: If the victim can still manage a middle finger, it’s probably not worth your time.
