Nina In New York: Now I Need A Theme Song!
A young professional's take on the trials and tribulations of everyday life in New York City.
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By Nina Pajak
I've never believed the idea that everyone gets "15 minutes of fame." But I do believe that every New Yorker gets at least one opportunity to be a good Samaritan. Frankly, we probably get far more than that, and we either don't notice or choose not to notice.
Yesterday morning, I was confronted with a situation which simultaneously proved that:
1) People in this city won't necessarily let you lay dying without giving you a helping hand; and
2) People in this city are buttheads.
Here's what happened:
My friend and I were walking down Broadway, when suddenly we saw a man collapse in the street behind a parked car. We went over to ask if he was okay, which is when I realized that he was not at all okay—he appeared to be having a seizure or attack of some sort. So I immediately pulled out my phone, which caused several rather relieved looking people to scurry away. I had my finger on the "9" when a woman walked by, stopped and looked at me and my friend rather disdainfully and barked:
"SOMEONE SHOULD CALL 9-1-1."
Thanks, lady. Thank you so much for that helpful command, given to me as though you were my middle-manager and I your incompetent employee. Go ahead on your way, off to your important job as Associate VP of Telling People to Do Crap They're Already Doing So That You Can Feel Like You've Done Something. Go eat a muffin at your desk and tell someone else to do something you don't feel like doing yourself.
Anyway, that's not what I said. I said, "Yeah, I am." And then I turned my back to her and got on the phone.
At which point the dispatcher had to ask me a thousand questions, including having me repeat my location at least three times and requiring that I clarify whether 6- and Broadway was East 6- street or West 6- street? West! West! There is no East 6- and Broadway! Don't you have a map? Do you need a map? I understand why they need to be absolutely certain of every single detail, but in the heat of the moment it feels like time's a-wastin' and you just want to hear them say, "Got it, we're on it."
Then she asked me if the man was conscious, which he had not appeared to be. But I leaned over to ask him a test question, which is when suddenly his eyes rolled forward and he came to. He seemed to be trying to wave me off from requesting the ambulance, but he also couldn't speak or manage to stand up. I told him to please stay there, and I told the dispatcher that despite his return to consciousness, he seemed awfully unwell.
It began to occur to me that I should try to help him up. But he was a biggish guy, and I'd heard something about not moving someone lest you injure them further somehow. Knowing absolutely zero about anything first-aid or medically-related outside of my own hypochondriacal WebMD visits, I decided not to chance it. I stood watching him, helplessly, and tried to convince him to relax and wait for the ambulance to come, but he seemed intent on pulling himself up. Finally, a traffic cop ran over. Not long after, a police car pulled up and all three officers began to help him.
I stood for another moment longer, waiting to ask if they needed us to stay for any reason, when suddenly I noticed that a very short, older gentleman had gotten out of the car behind which this man was lying and had sort of materialized next to me. He wore a very expensive-looking suit and had eyebrows that practically grazed his cheekbones, like a Roman senator.
"Did you see what happened?" he asked. I told him briefly.
The Roman senator looked on at the hubbub, but continued talking. "He had just gotten out of the front to come around and open my door!"
I nodded, not really listening. Then I processed what he had said.
"He's your driver?" I asked, incredulously.
He nodded mildly and continued to watch. I might have pointed out that this entire episode had taken at least eight or ten minutes, during which time the Roman senator was ostensibly sitting in the backseat waiting for his driver to open his door, oblivious to the crowd of people that had formed around him. Huh. I chose to say nothing.
The officers waved us off and we continued on our way. And that was that.
See what I mean? On the one hand, I helped a stranger and was therefore late to a meeting, which did not deter me from stopping. I'm not trying to overly glorify my actions. My point is that despite our city's reputation for callousness, I no doubt that someone else in the crowd would have called an ambulance had I not. On the other hand, I encountered two tremendously obnoxious and self-centered people in the space of one ten-minute emergency, and I would expect nothing less.
The end.
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Dear Readers: While I am rarely at a loss for words, I'm always grateful for column ideas. Please feel free to e-mail me your suggestions.
Nina Pajak is a writer and publishing professional living with her husband on the Upper West Side.
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