112

This morning I walked into Old Town from Vinohrady a slightly different way than I have before, like usual. It's a beautiful day, nippy and bright, at that temperature where my hands and face are cold but I'm sweating under all the corduroy and wool. I walked by the National Museum and the equestrian statue of St. Wenceslas on Wenceslas Square, dodging people as I looked at facades.

As I passed a flower stand, I heard what was obviously two vehicles colliding hard, on the other side of the kiosk. I ran to see if anyone needed help. On the cobblestones, crumpled, unconcious, with blood flowing out of his slack mouth lay a man in a half-helmet. Above him was his scooter, beside him the expensive car that hit him, behind him the bald man in a suit, around him five or six people trying to help.

Not five minutes before, when a bare-chested man with a potbelly, wearing an open nylon jacket and carrying a screwdriver, came out of a building and passed me suddenly, I had had a grisly daydream about what I would have done if he were deranged and stabbed me in the stomach with a knife. I'm not sure why, but I often have worst-case scenario daydreams that result in my needing to call 911. Except here 911 is 112, something I reminded myself in the daydream.

So imagine me on my cell phone urgently repeating, "Anglicsky?" to the dispatcher. It took two minutes to speak to someone who speaks English. Luckily there was at least one other man who called at the same time, who, I'm sure spoke Czech. Finally, the dispatcher who understood me and my discription asked if anyone else was there who spoke Czech and I handed the phone off, something I should have done to begin with, but I don't think clearly when I'm panicky.

In the meantime, the man had regained conciousness and kept trying to sit up, which we all tried to prevent him from doing because of the possiblity of a neck injury. Eventually, though, two minutes before the ambulance got there, he got up and was helped to sit on the curb. The right side of his face was a bloody mass, but the silly half-helmet probably did save his life. The ambulance took an agonizing 15 minutes to arrive.

And yes, I ride a scooter, and yes it's a fragile position to be in. But I wear a full-face helmet, which would have prevented the worst of his (visible) injuries. Also, the scooter riders and drivers here are crazy, so I don't think it translates to Raleigh.