So, if my daughter’s school choir performance hadn’t been scheduled for tonight…

And, if the #9 Broadway TriMet driver hadn’t gotten lost for a few minutes on the way home…

…I’d have missed some guy totalling his Volvo because he was in a hurry to race the yellow light.

When I’m coming home on the Broadway bus I have two options: Get off at MLK/Grand, or get off at NE 7th. Usually I pick 7th, even though it’s a slightly longer walk, since a) I deal with fewer homeless/panhandlers on 7th than on MLK/Grand and b) there’s a Chipotle at 7th (even if I don’t always get dinner there).

The bus let me off, and I stood at the corner of 7th and Weidler contemplating whether to spend a few of my remaining dollar bills on a steak burrito because it had been quite the long day and lunchtime was quite a number of hours gone. I decided to cross 7th anyway, and started checking for traffic. Coming northbound on 7th was a white Volvo wagon, and at first I thought he was far enough away. He rapidly accelerated, though, clearly wanting to make the yellow. I stood my ground and watched as he zoomed toward and through the intersection…

…and right into the little green sedan which was making a left turn onto Weidler.

Whoah.

On the plus side for my fellow humans in this neighborhood and this day-and-age, I was one of three witnesses who hurried to the scene (safely, safely, I wasn’t going to cross against any lights right after that) to make sure folks were okay… and also to serve as witnesses in case anyone got dickish about things.

On the minus side… the Volvo driver got dickish. After his wagon limped to the side of the road, he got out, looked around at the street and his car, then made his way to the green sedan (now safely parked next to a drive-through) to exchange information. The first words out of his mouth, I kid you not, included the phrase, “I was driving the speed limit.”

The big black man, the young lady on the bicycle, and I found that statement utterly hilarious. “Gee, sure looked like he was racing the yellow to me, didn’t it?” “Oh, yeah, he was cruisin’.” Considering that I was the one in the best position to see and hear his car approach the intersection… yeah, not buyin’ it, pal. I know a VROOM when I hear one.

“Back the hell off, this is none of your business.” Uh, actually, it is. Concerned citizens who witness something like that are honor-bound, if possible, to make sure both that everyone’s okay and that the mean old man doesn’t get pushy with the timid young lady whose car got sideswiped.

“Now my car’s totalled, I had [blah blah] thousand miles on it, yadda de yadda.” Yes, and if you hadn’t been in such a damned hurry, your precious would be intact… oh, and how nice of you to care about the state or the driver of the car you hit, jackass.

So for a few minutes I helped play honor guard, keeping the cranky Volvo driver honest in some small fashion. We three witnesses gave the nice young lady our names & numbers in case the insurance folks wanted to hear our accounts, and then I headed off to get a burrito for dinner.

Because at the end of a night like tonight, I needed some goddamned comfort food.