How I Broke My Briefcase

I broke my briefcase.

It's not badly broken; I think I can fix it. Here's how I broke it:

I decided to work at home this afternoon because (1) I can and (2) there are a lot of sick people at the office, and I wanted to minimize my chances of catching the flu. So at about 2:15 I headed for home.

On the road, a white car suddenly swerved into my lane and almost hit me. I stood on my horn, but the car kept on coming. When I saw that the other car wasn't going to stop, I hit my brakes.

The other car didn't stop until it smacked into the guard rail. I slowed down to see what the other driver would do next. The car slowly rolled to a stop; then the driver slumped sideways into the passenger's seat.

I stopped my car, hopped out, and walked-ran to the passenger side of the other car. The driver was slumped over, on his side and almost on his back, looking upward. His eyes were open, but he wasn't moving.

I checked the doors; all doors but the driver's were locked. And since the car was wedged up against the guard rail, I couldn't get to the unlocked door. I banged on the window; no response - the guy didn't move.

I figured the driver must have had a heart attack or stroke or even a diabetic seizure. I pounded on the windows and yelled at the guy to get up. No luck.

Next step: I waved my arms at oncoming traffic while I ran back to my car. I looked for something to help, and eyed my briefcase. I grabbed the briefcase, ran back to the other car, and used it to try to break the rear-passenger side window.

Now, I figured the window would give way after a few good blows. After all, it was glass, and my briefcase is a heavy piece of equipment filled with books. I was mistaken: the window held. Oh, I scratched the thing - I even left little burgundy colored marks on the glass where my briefcase hit it - but the window didn't budge.

After a few good heaves I stood back; it was then I noticed another car that had pulled up. The driver of the third car wanted to know why I was trying to break into a car sitting on the side of the highway. I can imagine what I looked like, assaulting a car sitting in the emergency lane.

With cars whizzing by I shouted that the driver was passed out, and asked the new fellow to call for help. Mental note: investigate cell phone prices.

Because my briefcase solution didn't work, I decided to push the car backwards and away from the guard rail; that way, I reasoned, I should be able to get to the driver's side door. I was parked a little too close to pull this off, so I ran to my car, threw the briefcase in, and backed my car up about 30 feet. Then I ran to the front of the first car and pushed. Still no luck: apparently the driver had hit the emergency brake before he passed out, or had his foot on the brake pedal in (what I was afraid was) a stroke-induced rigor-mortis-like state. At least, that was this layman's prognosis. Don't laugh: I was an English major, not a doctor.

I pounded on the window some more, and shouted at the motionless driver. I looked at the third driver; he was still in his car, on the car phone. Out of ideas, I decided to try a tire iron or jack on the first guy's window. He still hadn't moved.

I ran back to my car and to the trunk. No tire iron or jack - only a spare tire. Mental note: get a jack for changing tires and smashing windows.

I was running low on ideas. In desperation, I grabbed my old standby - the slightly scratched burgundy briefcase - and ran back to the car.

I was about to cut loose with a second assault when I saw the driver twitching! He wasn't doing much, but I could see his shoulder and hand moving. I shouted at him several times to unlock the passenger door; no response. I shouted at him to hang in there - that help was on the way. He didn't unlock the door, but the car did start to inch forward. A mystery solved: he had been standing on the brake when he passed out.

That was the good news. The bad news is that the third driver was parked about 20 feet in front of the now-revived driver's car. So I ran between the cars and began pushing back on the first car. About all I accomplished was ruining a good pair of slacks. And after a few seconds the now semi-conscious driver stood on the brake again. He had also half sat up and opened his driver-side window a few inches.

I hopped the guard rail and stood beside the driver's side door. I asked him how he was doing; no answer.

It's funny: I noticed that he had a mark on the bridge of his nose, like maybe from where a pair of glasses had gotten smashed against his face. But I couldn't tell you what he looked like. Odd.

I told him to unlock the doors; he mumbled, "I can't." I kept talking to him and telling him to reach over and unlock his passenger-side door. I realized that I was a dummy when all three remaining door locks suddenly popped open. The guy had hit the unlock button on his door panel. Here I was telling him to reach across the car, when all he had to do was push a button about three inches from his finger. Even in a stupor, he was thinking more clearly than I was at the time.

I ran around to the other side of the car and opened the door. I was about to grab his wrist to check his pulse (it made sense at the moment) when a police arrived. So I stood back and let the cop take over.

With all this free time suddenly on my hands I struck up a conversation with the driver of the third car, thanking him for his help. He had done a good turn, but he didn't miss the opportunity to tell me that instead of messing with the guy's car I should have just gotten to a phone and called the police. If I had broken into the car, he told me, the driver could have taken me to court. I thought about asking the third driver if he was a lawyer, but decided against it. After all, why argue with a guy who is being reasonable (and maybe a lawyer to boot) when I'm feeling frazzled?

Anyway, just simply leaving the possibly dying driver sitting there never occurred to me. To be honest, I was worried about what I was going to do if and when I got the door open. I'm glad the cop showed up when he did; I was so fixed on getting the driver out of the car that I probably would have tried to pull him out through the passenger's side car with 80 MPH traffic zooming by not five feet away.

That was pretty much it. Another cruiser showed up, then an ambulance; the officers got my name and personal info, then told me to go home. When I got home I noticed for the first time the damage to my briefcase (some of the fittings popped loose; I think I can fix it). And that's how I broke my briefcase.

I didn't do anything noteworthy, except maybe put myself in harm's way in case the really did need help (A for effort?). The guy with the cell phone told me I was a hero; the truth is, though, I just wanted to go home and go to bed. I remembered the time as a freshman in high school, when I came across the lady who'd shot her heart out with a .38 - kids talk about that sort of thing being cool, but I was just sad; I never did tell anyone at school about it. It's different when it's real.