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Walking home from Buffalo Billiards, trying not to feel bad about being a Mets fan, I'm crossing at 18th and New Hampshire, when a guy in front of me at the corner flips over like he was hit by lightning.
He had just been taking a sip from a McDonald's cup, and when he went down his hand clenched and the contents exploded all over him.
I run up to him and he's shaking and sweating and convulsing like CC Sabathia is twisting his balls. I don't have a phone, so, after pulling his face out of the dirt I flag another pedestrian and ask him to call an ambulance.
There's not much I can do in the meantime. It didn't look like a tongue swallowing was imminent, and so I held him steady and spoke to him, trying to keep his head from hitting the iron fence next to him.
As the shaking slowed, he began to slowly pull himself up, but wouldn't respond or make eye contact. The other bystander was hinting to the EMS operator that he may not need an ambulance. I've seen a few seizures and I know enough that getting to the end doesn't mean you're alright. I wave frantically to him to indicate "No, make them come."
He not only won't acknowledge me or even return eye contact, but he puzzles over the iron fence, then starts to futilely try to rip it out of the ground. I'm trying to give him back his fumbled bags, and he doesn't acknowledge them either. The phone caller is hinting to the operator that he may not be around if they arrive. "No," I say, "they need to come." But fortunately they're arriving at that moment. First a firetruck, then the EMS van.
They have as much luck as I do getting a response, but they give me the benefit of the doubt that he wasn't just some mean nut who tripped. They take turns asking if they can check him out or take him to the hospital, he gives a mean look, turns away, and puzzles over the fence. Sixty seconds later another guy tries to no luck. They mentioned the seizure I reported and he gives a shake of his head as if to ambiguously deny it.
Finally a bad-ass petite chick gets out of the van and asks if he wants to be checked out or take a ride. Given a shake of the head, she asks, "OK, can I ask you to sign some papers?"
I'm about to get upset because he clearly doesn't know what planet he's on, and as she goes back to prepare her "don't sue us" waivers, a few more guys attempt to get in his good graces. Finally another chick gets out of the EMS van --- pretty and sunny as Marcia Brady pre-football injury --- and asks him, "Sir, would you like to come with me in the van so we can check you out?"
He looks her over head to toe, the first his eyes have fixed on anything except the iron fence, he shrugs his shoulders, says "OK" reasonably clearly, and lets her take his arm, hand him his bag, lead him to the van, and get his ride to the hospital.
She was like the closer.
Anyhow, there are worse things than being a Mets fan today.
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