I needed to buy some bus tickets, so even though I was fully focused on packing (sarcasm coming from the eternal packing procrastinator), I grabbed my ipod and my purse and ran out the door in my jeans, Auburn National Champ t-shirt, hair in a ponytail and zero make-up.
Ipod was out of battery, so I put it back in my purse and walked into town marveling at the weird sounds I was hearing from not having my ears filled with Mumford & Sons. I think those sounds might be called "birds chirping," but one never can tell.
Once I'd purchased my tickets, I headed back home. Why does the seemingly unimportant details of no ipod and what I was wearing matter? Because I didn't have my ipod on, I cannot be accused of not having paid attention. Since I was dressed like a bum, I mean a fully focused packer, I cannot be accused of my power outfit having brought attention to myself. I cannot be accused. I am without fault.
Most streets in Besançon are pretty narrow, and the few cars/busses that venture through the downtown area go pretty slow because they could take out several pedestrians who believe they rule the road. There are one or two roads, however, that are not curved, and don't have many intersections, and so the drivers shoot down them like they are race-car drivers who get extra points if they get up over 30 miles per hour. I don't drive in Bes, but I'd bet that the speed limit in the downtown area is 15 miles per hour. 30 just seems wild.
So I was walking down one of these speedways and needed to cross the street. Instead of following the "pedestrians rule the road" mentality to cross wherever I wanted, I went to the crosswalk. There are two kinds of crosswalks in France: ones with the green man/red man light, where cars have the right of way, and then a non-lit kind where the pedestrian sort of has the right of way.
I say "sort of" because there are always exceptions to everything in France. And so while most drivers stop when they see a pedestrian waiting to cross...but not all stop. And I've seen enough pedestrians hit by cars in my lifetime (3 in a 6-week period in Portugal!) to know to wait until I know they will stop before stepping into that crosswalk.
So I was standing on the sidewalk next to the crosswalk waiting to cross the street. I did not have on my ipod. I was not on my cell phone. I did not look cute. I was minding my own business. I cannot be accused of being at fault for what happened next.
A very nice driver slowed down and stopped and waved for me to cross.
As I lifted my foot to step into the crosswalk...CRUNCH. A delivery truck rammed into the nice driver, pushing his car in my direction. I sort of wish that I could have a still-shot photo of my face at that moment...I think I made about 14 expressions in all of 3 seconds.
Fear for my life.
Shock.
Total embarrassment.
Remorse.
Confusion.
Awkward.
Guilt.
I made eye contact with the nice driver and he gave me this reassuring look that said, "Really? You were obeying the law by waiting to cross, and I was obeying the law by stopping, and this is what happens? Ridiculous." He got out to look at his bumper, and the delivery truck driver got out, and the million cars all behind them put their cars in park...because on a one-way street where were they going to go?
What did I do?
I scurried across the street with my head hung low trying not to cry and got away from there as fast as I could. Now, I know that I did nothing wrong, and that there was no way that I could get in trouble for just standing on a sidewalk.
But you know the flight or fight reflex that comes when you feel afraid? I'm typically a flighter. I run away if I can. Not always, but it is my first instinct. Before you go wondering what in the world I felt afraid of, and why I felt the immediate need to get out of there as fast as I could, let me explain.
There is a "fear of looking like the village idiot foreigner" that most of us who have lived overseas know about very well. I did not, in any way, want to have to speak French in that moment and reveal that I was a foreigner. My luck these days would cause me to be at blame for that accident because I ended up saying something wrong in French to the parties involved. I already was near tears from the event, and having to speak French would have made them flow very quickly, and well...I did not want to learn how a Frenchman would react to a crying American woman dressed like a bum, I mean a fully focused packer. I already felt so completely stupid and mortified...I just didn't want to feel more embarrassed by speaking French.
So I ran away. They didn't holler for me to come back, so I figure it was okay that I ran away. I'm not proud of it. It wasn't my finest moment. And that's the end of the story. I caused a 2-car pile-up and backed up traffic simply by standing on a sidewalk.
Now the eternal packing procrastinator should quit blogging and get back to packing...
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