bicycle vs. taxi
The Rotaract Club (some mutant form of the Rotary Club, I presume) held a meeting at someplace named Hitomachi Kouryuukan at Gojo-Kawaramachi. It was shits and giggles, but I didn't get enough to eat.
Anyhow, I made my trek back, doing my superman on a bike thing down Gojo. Oh, I'm hot, I'm sexy, I'm swervin' past the peds and the porn--yea, that's one cool Ivan on wheels. Woah, that's a tight fit between those two old ladies--schwam! I make it right through them. Can I make this light in time? Woosh! My special organ increases in size. Oh-ho-ho! What's this? A taxi coming out of a parking lot? Let's get past thiCRUNCH! CLUNK! POINK! ... I'm on the cement, and all I can hear are the words fucking son-of-a-bitch!!! (yes, in English) come out of my mouth. I'm not really sure how to react after this because, well, I'm rather upset and worried what's gonna happen next.
He'd hit the right side of my pedalling device, and I can see the front basket is beaten to some weird puddy formation. My man-purse and bike lock had fallen out, and my chin is on the pavement. I can feel the usual "scratched my knees on the floor" feelings. I kind of feel like cursing some more.
The middle-aged taxi driver gets out, and sings out the standard apologies, and all I can hear coming from my mouth is "I'm alright, I'm fine" (in Japanese). I'm still rather upset, and he starts saying stuff to me that I can half-understand. I hear him pop out the word for "policeman" and then I think there was "please forget." I tell him that I'm not clear on what he's getting at, so he takes out a 10,000yen bill (that's roughly $100, kids) and hands it to me; and he re-iterates to me to please forget.
Well, I figured that my bike isn't even worth 100 smackers, and I don't seem to have any problems with any of the necessary body parts; well, other than a small scratch on the face and an itch on my wrist (however, the wrist's started to be a little queer since I've gotten home, hmm).
He says something like he wanted my name or somesuch and handed me a pad and paper, so I write it down. He's confused that I don't have a Japanese name, so I let him know I'm American. I'm not sure what happened, but I think I was supposed to write my address or somesuch but he didn't ask for it. Instead, he kind of let me go (I was thinking I was fine, and dealing with the police really would have been more problematic than I wanted), and he went off.
But now I'm feeling all weirded out thinking I shouldn't have taken the money and called the cops. But, on third thought, I think it's fine: it more than pays for my bike's repairs (actually, it doesn't even have to been fixed, it just moves weird but works fine), and I wasn't upset enough to get the guy in trouble.
Oh, man, that was some fall, though.