When I was at Medical Center Opticians today, getting my glasses fixed yet again (among the many joyous things that happened last month, I managed to break my glasses not once but twice...), I flashed back on that day in August of 1995 when I had the bicycle accident. As I mentioned in this post, a number of really crappy things happened to me in August 1995. I got dumped, I got mugged, and, on the day in question, I got in an accident.
I was riding my bicycle to work and I hit a patch of unmarked construction and crashed. Split my face open. Spent the better part of the morning in the hospital. The cops drove me home from the hospital, and then I had no clue what to do with myself, so I figured I'd go to Forsite Optical, since I'd damaged my glasses in the crash.
It was a weekday afternoon, but there were a good number of people in there, so I sat and waited my turn. I sort of felt like people were looking at me funny, but then again, I'd had an incredibly crappy morning and had a concussion, so I just sort of wrote it off. Eventually my turn came and I showed the man my glasses. He was a real dem-dese-dose kinda guy - you know, old school Chicago tough guy. He took one look at my glasses and said they couldn't be salvaged, but that he had another pair that the lenses would fit in, and he would give them to me at half price. This made me sad; up until that point Chicago Bob and I had had the exact same pair of glasses and now we wouldn't anymore. Still, I could tell that the man was honestly going out of his way to be nice to me, and I appreciated it. Then I found out why he was being so nice, and why the other customers had been staring: I caught a glimpse of my reflection in one of the many mirrors there and saw that blood had been oozing out of the stitches in the gash on my forehead, and that I had a pretty decent stream of blood running down the right hand side of my face.
I found a Kleenex, wiped my face, thanked the man, and walked home.