Martin and I planned on meeting for an early dinner of margaritas. As I walked westbound on 34th Street, I encountered a huge screeching noise, followed by 4 or 5 consecutive thumps. It was exactly what it sounded like: a car hit a dude right in front of the Empire State Building.
He bounced and twirled off the car hood in mid-air, knocked out of his shoes, thrown like a rag doll. I did the classic "Home Alone" gasp and cupped my mouth with my hands--there was no possible way he could have lived, and he lay motionless on the ground. For one second--until he jumped up, with a shoe in each hand, raised his arms above his head in an "I'm alright, I'm a champion" display for the young driver (who emerged from his car with the Home Alone face), and the the 100 of us who saw this accident. The guy behind me goes, "I woulda layed there. I mean, what's he doin?"
What he was doing was called "shock." There's no way he was alright. A cop car happened to be in the neighborhood, and within minutes, a firetruck and ambulance showed up. I crossed the street and saw Martin on the other side of the block. I relayed the information, still frazzled at what I had seen. In order to point out Mr. Amazing Car Crash Guy, we crossed back, this time southbound. Now Mr. Amazing Car Crash Guy was in a neck brace, smoking a cigarette and describing what had happened with wild-armed gesturing. Take it easy, we're thinking. Is understandable to want a cigarette after almost becoming cement jelly? Yes. But is it smart? Lie down, for f*cks sake!
About the time the welts started to appear on his forehead, Mr. Most Gorgeous Fireman Ever arrived on the scene. The heavens opened up. Ahhh...aaaaaaaHHHHHHH...Angels were singing, birds were chirping, Martin and I were drooling (Martin likes boys too). Mr. Most Gorgeous Fireman Ever was neck-breaking, take-your-breath-away, drop-dead, (insert other death reference here )stunning. Perfectly proportioned with great hair, an Elvis pout, strong shoulders and arms and 25 tops. Did I mention he was gorgeous? As he took down pertinent information before putting Mr. Amazing Car Crash Guy into his stretcher, I think he busted us staring at him 7-10 times. Maybe 11. But please, a guy this good looking is used to this kind of stuff. At this point, even Martin was trying to drag me away. But I finally understood why men go to strip clubs. I was genuinely objectifying him. If you're ever in Engine 1's neighborhood, check out their firehouse. He's the gorgeous one. Yowza, Yowza, Yowza! And here I thought cops were more my type. Right.
Request from Liz: Camera Phone Picture of Mr. Most Gorgeous Fireman Ever. (He's the hot dust mite next to the average looking ant)
3 comments:
"But please, a guy this good looking is used to this kind of stuff."
Tell me about it!
no... seriously... tell me about it... i want to know that world if only for a second... like i was meat on the rack...
anne, do you have a camera phone? i don't, but clearly situations as this one are the reason people do. surely martin does. next time you want to tell us about life-saving and hot firemen, bring a picture.
if you have a camera phone, that is.
and i don't know who you are, newbluebaby. right in front of me. please.
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