My first full day in California I realized that I needed to open a bank account. A gullible idiot walking around with a hunk of cash and a huge check was a recipe for disaster. i pictured myself waking up in a dirty Tijuana hotel room with my organs harvested. So I ask Kyle and Dave where I can find a bank. I am given the thoroughly unimpressive response, "just go down Garnet, there are tons of them there." Garnet is a main drag in Pacific Beach, which itself is a very touristy, very busy part of the San Diego beach scene. With no other options, I head down to "PB," as it is known here.
Speaking of "PB"... San Diego has a few beach areas that actually have the word "beach" in their names. There is Pacific Beach, known as "PB," Ocean Beach, known as "OB," and, a bit further away, Imperial Beach, which is known as, everybody now, "IB." When I first moved here, I lived in Mission Beach, which is known as...Mission Beach. I have quizzed several people as to why Mission Beach is not known as "MB." I have never gotten a good answer to the question, instead faced usually with the typical California shrug and "dude, I dunno, man, hahahaha."
So anyway, I turn right onto Garnet, which is pretty much the main street in Pacific Beach (not calling it PB until they call Mission Beach MB). I drive about three blocks and realize that there is a Bank of America on the left side of the road. So I turn at the next available left and try to circle back to Garnet and find parking. I am at the intersection waiting to turn left back onto Garnet. My eyes are scanning the sides of the street for a parking spot, while I am slowly turning the car.
Next thing I know I hear and feel this slight bump. I take my eyes off of the sides of the road and look out my driver's side window to see my mirror hanging there. Oops. I then see this woman, who is probably about 55 or so, holding onto her elbow or arm. I immediately pull over to the side of the road and get out. The woman is now on the sidewalk, laying down, with what looks like her daughter attending to her. I walk straight over to her, fall over myself apologizing, and ask if she is ok. She cowers lower as if I am going to finish her off or something. I am not an intimidating figure. I am of average height and size, and generally convey the happy face of a polite, approachable midwesterner. The only living organisms I am capable of intimidating are infants strapped into a stroller and small puppies in elevators, and only then because they are confined in some way.
So i walk away from this woman. A really great, super effin samaritan was on the corner and had called the cops. Thank you, sir. But he was telling the woman that I obviously did not mean to hit her and that it was a mistake. Then the cops show up.
It is safe to say that there must not have been a single crime occurring in San Diego at this time. The first cop to show up gets out and, after talking to the woman, comes over to me and asks me what happened. I explained that I took my eyes off the road as I was looking for a parking spot, that I just got here, and that it was completely my fault. He absolutely does not care. He asks for my license, registration, and proof of insurance, the latter two of which are buried somewhere in my still full car.
I bring back my license and older copies of the registration and insurance. He is ok with this, but then he stops writing, looks at me, and says, "sir, have you been drinking today?" It is about noon. Every bone in my body wants to respond, "define 'today,'" but i bite my tongue and say, simply, "no." He walks away.
In the meantime, two more cops, a fire truck, and an ambulance have shown up. Yes, I am serious. Another cop comes up and we go through the whole story again. This guy, like the last guy, is all business, never cracks a smile, and totally looks "cop." It was as if I had knocked off the damn bank.
Now this woman, had a red mark on her arm. This did not prevent her, of course, from laying down in the ambulance as if I had hit her square in the torso with a bulldozer. She was fine.
So another cop shows up and this is the guy who is going to write the report. He comes over. I explain it to him also, and this guy is actually nice. He says to be careful, because Pacific Beach has a lot of pedestrians crossing the road all the time and it is understandable how this could happen. He tells me I am free to go. This puzzles me. I hit someone with my damn car. I ask him if he is sure. He says he is. I tell him that I kinda feel as though I should get a ticket, because I hit a pedestrian with my car. He says he is just writing it up as a traffic incident. I ask him if he is sure again. He is getting annoyed and tells me to go.
So I go up to this woman one last time and ask if she is ok. She says, "well, I hope that I am." I see the now not so red part of her arm that struck my mirror and grit my teeth at her drama. But i say, "well, I'm sorry again, I really am" and walk off.
Then I go open a bank account. Second. Day. In. California.
Speaking of "PB"... San Diego has a few beach areas that actually have the word "beach" in their names. There is Pacific Beach, known as "PB," Ocean Beach, known as "OB," and, a bit further away, Imperial Beach, which is known as, everybody now, "IB." When I first moved here, I lived in Mission Beach, which is known as...Mission Beach. I have quizzed several people as to why Mission Beach is not known as "MB." I have never gotten a good answer to the question, instead faced usually with the typical California shrug and "dude, I dunno, man, hahahaha."
So anyway, I turn right onto Garnet, which is pretty much the main street in Pacific Beach (not calling it PB until they call Mission Beach MB). I drive about three blocks and realize that there is a Bank of America on the left side of the road. So I turn at the next available left and try to circle back to Garnet and find parking. I am at the intersection waiting to turn left back onto Garnet. My eyes are scanning the sides of the street for a parking spot, while I am slowly turning the car.
Next thing I know I hear and feel this slight bump. I take my eyes off of the sides of the road and look out my driver's side window to see my mirror hanging there. Oops. I then see this woman, who is probably about 55 or so, holding onto her elbow or arm. I immediately pull over to the side of the road and get out. The woman is now on the sidewalk, laying down, with what looks like her daughter attending to her. I walk straight over to her, fall over myself apologizing, and ask if she is ok. She cowers lower as if I am going to finish her off or something. I am not an intimidating figure. I am of average height and size, and generally convey the happy face of a polite, approachable midwesterner. The only living organisms I am capable of intimidating are infants strapped into a stroller and small puppies in elevators, and only then because they are confined in some way.
So i walk away from this woman. A really great, super effin samaritan was on the corner and had called the cops. Thank you, sir. But he was telling the woman that I obviously did not mean to hit her and that it was a mistake. Then the cops show up.
It is safe to say that there must not have been a single crime occurring in San Diego at this time. The first cop to show up gets out and, after talking to the woman, comes over to me and asks me what happened. I explained that I took my eyes off the road as I was looking for a parking spot, that I just got here, and that it was completely my fault. He absolutely does not care. He asks for my license, registration, and proof of insurance, the latter two of which are buried somewhere in my still full car.
I bring back my license and older copies of the registration and insurance. He is ok with this, but then he stops writing, looks at me, and says, "sir, have you been drinking today?" It is about noon. Every bone in my body wants to respond, "define 'today,'" but i bite my tongue and say, simply, "no." He walks away.
In the meantime, two more cops, a fire truck, and an ambulance have shown up. Yes, I am serious. Another cop comes up and we go through the whole story again. This guy, like the last guy, is all business, never cracks a smile, and totally looks "cop." It was as if I had knocked off the damn bank.
Now this woman, had a red mark on her arm. This did not prevent her, of course, from laying down in the ambulance as if I had hit her square in the torso with a bulldozer. She was fine.
So another cop shows up and this is the guy who is going to write the report. He comes over. I explain it to him also, and this guy is actually nice. He says to be careful, because Pacific Beach has a lot of pedestrians crossing the road all the time and it is understandable how this could happen. He tells me I am free to go. This puzzles me. I hit someone with my damn car. I ask him if he is sure. He says he is. I tell him that I kinda feel as though I should get a ticket, because I hit a pedestrian with my car. He says he is just writing it up as a traffic incident. I ask him if he is sure again. He is getting annoyed and tells me to go.
So I go up to this woman one last time and ask if she is ok. She says, "well, I hope that I am." I see the now not so red part of her arm that struck my mirror and grit my teeth at her drama. But i say, "well, I'm sorry again, I really am" and walk off.
Then I go open a bank account. Second. Day. In. California.
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