Letters & Submissions Irresponsibility on campus
I don’t know you, but you should know me. You were the
one who hit me with your car when I was running around 5:30
p.m. on Sept. 11 along Trollinger Street.
I was running toward the stoplight near the intramural
fields on the right side of the road along the
sidewalk.
The sidewalk ended, so I tried to move across the road to
the left side, or correct side (runners are supposed to move
against traffic).
I looked over my left shoulder and realized you were
coming down the hill, so I moved back over to the right side
of the road, halfway onto the shoulder to allow you more
room, only to feel a sharp pain in my elbow as your passenger
side rearview mirror bashed into me.
I was the runner whom you almost ran off the road when
you nicked my elbow. Nice to meet you.
I don’t know what you were thinking when you passed
me.
Maybe you were trying to unwind from a stressful day of
classes, as I was doing, pounding the day’s
frustrations into the cement.
I don’t know if you were paying attention or if you
were busy talking to your female passenger.
I know your car was nice. Maybe you worked really hard to
buy that white Altima, or maybe it was given to you.
All I know is that if I had to work that hard for a car, I
might be more careful about hitting things.
I think you hit me hard enough that I damaged
your passenger side mirror. I’m sorry. If you had
slowed down, I could’ve apologized for any damage, but
you ran off before I had a chance to talk to you, or take
down your license plate number.
I have been running for about five years now. Strangers have
flicked me off for running in my own neighborhood and men
have made lewd noises or grunts at me. Apparently,
sweat-stained T-shirts accompanied with a red puffy face and
an expression of pain is the sexiest thing on earth. I have
even been run off the road, but I’ve never been hit by
a car.
I have never been hit in broad daylight on a busy road when
there were many pedestrians watching.
Perhaps my casual run was so fast and so speedy that you
just didn’t happen to see me from on top of the hill
where there were no obstructions of your view.
At least it makes for a great story; in fact, I bet if you
had stopped we probably would have already known each
other.
You would’ve asked if I was ok, and I would assure you
that I was fine, just bruised.
Maybe the next day you would see me walking to class and
hurry over to verify if I was still OK.
Days would pass, and this would become one great story to
tell at the bar and we would probably laugh over such a
ridiculous mishap because we would both know I
was OK.
But you didn’t stop. You didn’t even stop to see
if I was standing.
I don’t know your license plate number, so the cops
can’t prosecute you—don’t worry. I
didn’t see your face so I can’t identify you, so
you won’t get in trouble.
But the next time you get in a car, you should know who and
what is around you, because you won’t be hearing about
this in The Pendulum, you will be hearing about it from
the police.
And maybe then you could formally meet the person you almost
killed, or better yet, the parents who lost their baby
because you weren’t paying attention to your
driving.
-Caitlin McClelland ‘09
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