Do You Feel Awkward Calling 911?
Even when something really terrible has happened? I do. So maybe don’t drive like a maniac.
My apartment building is in a northern Manhattan neighborhood that my friend and former Jane editor Annemarie once described as Dowisetrepla, or Down Wind of the Sewage Treatment Plant. I have a view of the Hudson River and the George Washington Bridge, but also Riverbank State Park, which sounds nice but was built on top of, yes, a sewage treatment plant. The gorgeous-park part is supposed to make up for the gross-sewage part of it. Sometimes it does (ice skating, running track, swimming pools) and sometimes it doesn’t (stank, industrial towers, a four-alarm generator fire that shut down my wedding-reception venue 3 days before the event — long story for a different time). The treatment plant is probably the only reason I can afford to have a river view, so I’m not complaining.
Between the river and me lies another ugly-ish thing: a 6-lane highway. Plus: train tracks. It might sound awful to you. But lucky for me, the people who lived in our apartment before us put in noise-dampening windows, so we don’t hear the traffic on the highway. And I love seeing the ebb and flow of the cars around the city. I know “ebb and flow” is not conversational, and Jane wants this stuff to be conversational, but it does ebb and flow. Wax and wane. Get incredibly trafficky in one direction, then the other, then slow down to just a slow trickle of headlights in the early morning. [OK, good argument and permission granted. -Jane]
This highway has a lot of names. The Hudson River Parkway, State Route 9A, the West Side Highway — and apparently also the Joe DiMaggio Highway, although I have never heard anyone call it that. Whatever you call it, this road is by the water, and it’s too easy to get distracted while driving on it, with the sunsets and the view and New York City happening all around. Once there was a double rainbow that looked like it spanned all of New Jersey. Cars stopped. People walked out of their apartments. Phones out all over Dowisetrepla.
It’s hard to see from the other photos, but the lanes of the Hudson River Parkway are incredibly narrow. No shoulder. Cops generally don’t even pull people over on this stretch because there’s zero wiggle room. A few years back, from my living room window I saw the aftermath of a car accident that involved 8 cars — 5 going south and 3 going north. I’m guessing that after the first string of crashes happened on one side, the drivers on the other side stared a bit too long, causing another chain of accidents. But emergency responders were already doing their thing, and I had two children to care for, so I didn’t pay much attention.
A couple of weeks ago, we had the windows open, and I could hear some speed boats on the Hudson. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but it looked festive, and I called over my daughter, who is now 14, to take a look with me. Three boats at a time were racing north, at intervals. Awesome. I returned to my desk, and my kid went back to YouTube homework. Then I heard a crash.
I looked out the window and saw a car on the highway, perpendicular with its back end against the concrete dividers, missing a front tire, very smashed up. It looked bad. From the looks of the debris scattered around the road, it had plowed through some sand-filled barrels at the top of an exit ramp, hit the divider and spun around. Air bags filled the windows. The driver probably got distracted by the boats, like I did.
What if I sounded like an idiot and my 911 call ended up on a
podcast about morons who waste taxpayers’ money?
It seems strange when I write it now, but I nearly didn’t call in the crash, because I thought the 911 operator might be annoyed. What if a much bigger emergency was happening right then, and no one had time for car accidents? Or technology is so crazy today, what if the car had called in its own crash already? What if I sounded like an idiot and my 911 call ended up on a podcast about morons who waste taxpayers’ money? I cleared my throat.
The only other time I called 911 was something like 15 years ago, on a dark night with sub-zero temperatures. I was walking alone on West 57th St. and saw a man sleeping, or maybe passed-out, in a doorway. “The operator will be so annoyed if I call,” I thought, perhaps because I grew up with parents who were British and never asked for help with anything. Also this was New York City — people get mad a lot. But I dialed anyway. “I am afraid this man is going to die from the cold,” I said. The 911 operator wasn’t annoyed. She got the details and sent people to help him. Sometimes things just work as they should, which always surprises me, like the time when I walked down a street where a car alarm was going off, and I saw a police officer approach the car. My immediate thought was that he was going to write a ticket for disturbing the peace, but then I realized he was looking at the windows to make sure no one had tried to break in. Oh. Nice!
The 911 operator for the accident outside my window didn’t get mad, either. She took down the info. She listened. Asked questions. Emergency people showed up. I saw the ambulance, the tow truck, the many police cars, the random person who stopped before anyone to try to help the driver, who was luckily still conscious. I saw the traffic ebb and then stop altogether.
Then it flowed again.
When you’re driving on a narrow road, don’t look at the power boats. Don’t glance at your messages. Don’t stare at the accident on the other side of the divider. Don’t admire the sewage treatment plant. It’s tough not to look, but don’t do it. Whoever sees you crash might hesitate before dialing 911, because I know I’m not the only self-conscious freak out there.
Or maybe I am?
And anyway, do you think we should have shown the car?
True confession: I once was sitting inside my car procrastinating before going into choir practice at my old church when out of nowhere there was an accident on the corner behind me--a loud one. I froze. I didn't know what to do, which sounds insane. Meanwhile, my fellow choir members ran out of the church to see if anyone was hurt. I felt like a total ass.
I relate so much to feeling awkward asking for any kind of emergency help. Also, it was a good call on your part not to show the car even though I did want to see it personally and made you show it to me because I am like a 10-year-old in that way. Thank you for this beautiful piece.