A Special Kind of Stupid

Last night, strange things were afoot at the Circle-K. I was getting ready for bed at 1:30 AM, and went out to my car to get my purse. I was surprised to find a guy in the front of the house, lying in the flower beds next to my driveway, unconscious. Yes, you heard correctly – I was going to bed at 1:30 AM on a Saturday night. Lame, I know.

There were two other guys there – one was sitting in his car in the middle of the street, ready to peel off at a moment’s notice, and the other was kneeling over Unco Guygo, clapping in front of his face and lifting his arms in a pumping motion – I assume these were all feeble attempts to revive him. Concerned Friend told me that Unco Guygo had been long boarding down our street, had “a bit of trouble” navigating the turn in front of our house, and had rolled a few times and hit his head on the concrete.

[A bit of trouble? Our house is at the end of the block, with a 90 degree, uphill turn in front of us that loops back around to the next row of houses. It’s an oval. A paved, sharp, asphalty, loose-gravelly oval. Next to our house is a steep drop off the mountain. Literally. Off. The. Mountain. No guard rail, no nothing except Mohammed and the mountain. Good luck, long boarders – enjoy the view on the way down.]

After a minute, it was obvious that Friend #1 and The Transporter were increasingly nervous that Unco Guygo wasn’t waking up. Who knew that clapping and arm pumping won’t necessarily revive an unconscious person? Will wonders never cease? I asked them if they needed help, and the response was, “No, he’s OK, I’ve already checked him out. He’s just a little slow getting up.”

So I did what any concerned citizen would do – I ran downstairs to tell my roommates that there was an unconscious guy in the flower bed, and we took up post at my bedroom window, next to my life-size Elvis stand-up. By the time we got back there, Unco Guygo was still unco, except that Concerned Friend and The Transporter were awkwardly lifting him into the car. It was kind of eerie to see two guys carrying a body like that and stuffing / strapping him into the front seat. After the placement was successful, The Transporter collected Unco Guygo’s strewn belongings (wallet, keys, front teeth), pulled on his leather driving gloves while looking around maniacally, and peeled out. And just like that, they were gone.

It was at this moment when I began to wonder if Unco Guygo had just hit the pavement and rolled, or if maybe he had hit my car in the fall - which was parked at such an angle that I could easily imagine Unco Guygo flailing uncontrollably around the corner and painting his face with my bumper before doing the duck and cover into the flowers. We went outside to inspect the damage, found none except for the tell-tale skid marks into the dirt, and stood around for a few minutes wondering if we should do anything.

We finally decided that all we could do is watch the news for any reports of rogue long boarders with a serious case of road rash. Hopefully, that whole arm-pumping revival tactic paid off for them.

On a side note, a movie is being filmed at the old county jail next to where I work. I'm determined to get in the movie somehow. Am considering throwing empty diet pepsi cans at the craft service people...