I'm walking here! I'm walking here!

Well, I got hit by a livery cab yesterday. How's that for an opening line? Still can't believe it. Yes, I'm fine, I'm uninjured, not to worry. He just tapped me with his front bumper, causing an incipient bruise on one shin and a serious attitude adjustment. And by attitude adjustment I mean my attitude miraculously adjusted itself from nonexistent to native New Yorker in point 5 seconds flat. And back down again just as quickly, which fact I find considerably more bemusing. Entertaining to bystanders though, I imagine, or at least I hope.

To elaborate: I was crossing 49th street on the west side of 8th Avenue, headed north. I had the light. I feel the need to emphasize this point: I had the light. The little white "Walk Like An Egyptian" man was on the sign, not the big red "Stop! In The Name Of Love" hand. The livery cab started to make the turn onto 49th from 8th, I could see him in my peripheral vision, and by the time I realized he was not even slowing down I was squarely in front of him with no room to maneuver and all I could do was turn toward him in astonishment. And he slammed on the brakes at the last moment, which is why I'm not injured, but it was too late and he hit me. He actually hit me! I couldn't believe it; he actually made contact. Not hard enough to knock me over, thank god, but hard enough to hurt. If he'd been going faster than 5 miles an hour in the first place I would have had two broken legs. I was completely dumbfounded.

Without hesitation I leaned over his hood and screamed "What the FUCK?!" at the top of my lungs. I guess I just didn't know what else to say. So I said it again, even louder. He just half-shrugged and took his hands off the wheel, holding them up in front of him as if to say, jeez lady, calm down. No apology, of course. And I stood there in front of his car while he continued shrugging and waving me off until I finally realized there was nothing else to do but... move out of his way. So anticlimactic, really. I'm not quite sure where the spittle-flecked obscenity-yellin' version of me came from all of a sudden; I would have preferred the quick-thinking license-plate-gettin' version of me, but alas, you take what you can get in moments of crisis. I was three blocks away and down the stairs into the subway station before I thought of getting his licence number and reporting him to the Taxi & Limosine Commission. Oh well. At least that "what the fuck" got taken care of. I can cross that one off my New York checklist, no kidding. That guy was "what the fuck"ed thoroughly and with the appropriate spirit, if I do say so myself.