The team of three drove North towards City Center for the gathering before the breast cancer race. Does "breast" or "cancer" get capitalized? Surely I feel right proper about the noun that is Breast, but I feel that cancer needs to be delivered small insults at every turn, given its malevolent history. From now on: Breast cancer. Up yours, disease.
Much rain on the road, my favorite-to-malign Alaskan Way Viaduct, AKA: The 99. The exit was to Western Ave, which exit you sort of rise up to, and then instantly drop down from, with an ill-advised crosswalk at the bottom. We barely stopped in time to avoid hitting the car in front of us. The car behind us was unable to do as well.
"Oh shit!" My wife, driving.
"What? We're stopped." Me, just in time to hear the skidding tires. I didn't know from whence, but for some reason, no part of my brain considered that it might be bearing down from our six. I just scanned left, right, and front to no avail, and then felt the jolt. It wasn't much of an impact, at least we and the child didn't seem to think so, and the rear end of the pretty little Acura lady-car that my wife drives wasn't much moved by it, either (Briefly: I have driven in 3 different models of Acura, enough times to pass judgment on all of them in conditions up to and including deep, heavy snow and ice. If I sprung a battery of new thumbs, they would all be "up" for Acura. If I liked the styling a bit more, they would be well near the top of my new car list). The steel beam that is the hidden part of the bumper came loose and was hanging, as was the left side of the dual exhaust and its muffler. I yanked the bumper out, re-hung the exhaust in its grommet, popped a body panel back into place, and we drove home. You would have to be told there was an accident in order to spot the evidence on her car. By this point in our industrial evolution, that is exactly as it should be.
His Mid-90's Toyota didn't fare so well, but front-ends are built to crumble anymore. As a result, he fared just fine. The car was towed away.
It was an exercise in decency through and through, but for a silly little lady who came late to the party. She nearly stopped in time, but ultimately gave a little bumber-tap to the car that had hit ours. After looking about and talking to us for a few minutes she decided she was comfortable with the way things were, and she informed us that she was leaving. My wife and I noted her license plate number, which the police were eager to record so they could properly cite her for a hit and run. I noted her demographic as being particularly Seattle, and so was unsurprised by her eagerness to ignore her civic duty here. Civic duty is a thing best saved for gatherings and celebrations of civic duty, not for actual community interaction, and she, too was on her way to the breast cancer race. Can't let a little thing like a car accident in which you make yourself responsible to two other drivers get in the way of your need to be seen and to be able to tell people about the supernice thing you did today. Morgan's list has its standard-bearers here in Seattle, that's for certain.
But decency it was. The fellow who hit us did no carping, we did no finger pointing, the police were simply as professional as can be, and the very first thing everyone did was to make sure that everyone else was ok. Everyone except the 5'3", 200lb diesel female pit bull with the high-and-tight haircut who was, unremarkably, only concerned about herself. I swear people, the Seattle thing is not a stereotype, it's evidence. Of what? I'll leave you to work that out.