My journal of life and those lives that surround & influence me, both positively & negatively

Thursday, January 5

Militant Bicyclists, Hurry-Hurry Henrys & Lobster-Clawed Bozos: Welcome To The Egress>Act Three


The following story is true, no names are protected and for good reason: tonight we focus on a more personal side of those "Hurry-Hurry Henrys." Some of these "Hurry-Hurry Henrys," always believe they should always be first in line, first everywhere in fact, always hustling in such a hurry, unless of course they are a doctor, lawyer, undertaker, fireman, FBI agent or policeman...

I used to have so much empathy for foreigners who came into the United States to start over and make their own American dream come true, but lately, that’s been crumbling for me, especially with the plethera of young Russian female rip-off artists who disguise themselves as lonely travelers looking for companionship and money from some poor lonely male sap.

Last night’s experience with a "Hurry-Hurry Henry," was the last straw.

Yesterday evening while I was driving to the library where I post this most wonderful blog my dear readers, I pulled over when I saw an emergency vehicle pull out from the local firehouse, not even 200 feet in front of me. That’s the law in Illinois and elsewhere (I think) and if you don’t pull over you can be fined $500 and face a year in prison. I pulled over to right like the cars ahead of me did and beside me, both on my side of the street and the opposite side of the street.

Except for the guy directly behind me.

I felt my car jolt as I was smacked from behind; I’m guessing he was moving at a rate of 20 to 30 miles per hour, but I couldn’t tell for certain. I felt the jolt throughout my entire body, particularly through my legs, my left wrist, neck and head.

So, I put the car into park, turned off the engine, flipped on the hazard lights, unhooked my seat belt, opened and shut my car door and walked to the back of my car to survey the damage. Thankfully, I have a plastic bumper on my car, so I didn’t see any visible damage.

Shortly thereafter, the other guy hopped out of his car, attempting to tell me that he didn’t damage my car and to look at the hood of his car, as he tried unsuccessfully to pull up his car’s hood.

I responded to him, “But sir; you hit me and I was fully stopped.” He was clearly flustered when I immediately asked him for his name, address and telephone number. Right about then, a woman (presumably his wife) got out of the other side of the car and got very vocal with me, telling me that they didn’t damage the car, while telling her husband to stop talking to me and get back into the car.

I repeated what I told him earlier; they hit me, I didn’t hit them and they were responsible. That’s when all the screaming began between those two, presumably they were speaking another language, Assyrian, I think, because halfway through the conversation he suddenly changed his story and said, “I don’t understand English,” got back into his car, and fled the scene with his woman friend.

In the meantime, I looked up the information up online that he had given me and found that the bulk of it was false. Thankfully, my journalism skills are still intact and after a few minutes of monkey-wrenching, I found the correct information and behold! I can now proceed forward.

Beware of drivers like Jendo Lazar, folks, especially in light of the fact that he seems to enjoy denting his car, like so many others seem to do these days. His license plate number is 200785, just a few numbers ahead of mine.

Now I bet you’re wondering why I didn’t call the police and fill out a report and all that other stuff, right? I guess I didn’t see any visible damage on the bumper nor did I feel so terrible either, other than the obvious headaches I have today, but hey I like to suffer through pain once in a while, but not as much Jendo Lazar may suffer if he keeps dinging his car into other cars anytime soon.

I often wonder why they give driver’s licenses to foreign citizens (there’s a true oxymoron) if they claim they can’t even speak the language, but I suspect Lazar, who lives at 9119 LaCrosse Avenue in Skokie, Illinois might have received his driver’s license from a George Ryan vending machine shortly before they became obsolete.

I can still hear the loud bang from his vehicle inside my head. I lost a few hours of sleep this morning as a result.

Tonight, I will be filling out that police report.

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