Gas Station Incident - Part II (aka I Really Need Renter's Insurance)

My street corner is cursed. As you may or may not recall, I live above a gas station that released sodium bicarbonate or whatever it is in a false alarm fire over the summer, which resulted in my entire apartment and all of my possessions being coated with a white dust. In addition, my street corner, at 10th Avenue and 36th Street, was the sight of a deadly hit and run accident involving a bus about a month ago. On top of this, D and I were forced to call 311 a few weeks ago when the gas station became the site of a spontaneous hip hop party at 5am on a Saturday morning.

Yesterday morning, D and I awoke from a dead sleep when we heard screech, BANG!, screech, BANG, BLOWWWW!!!!!

We looked at each other, shocked. D bolted from bed, looked out my bedroom window, then ran to the living room and yelled "Oh my god we have to get out of here the gas station is on fire oh my god we should get out of here!"

"What?" I said, groggy. "Really?"

I put on my sneakers and ran to the window while putting on my coat.

I couldn't tell if the gas station was on fire because the white stuff was everywhere again. "Oh, I'm sure they've got it under control... like last time," I said.

"Ummm..."

I took my sneakers off, changed from pajamas to clothes just in case we couldn't come back for a while, grabbed the wallet and keys and phone and scarf and of course camera, and headed out of the apartment.

When we got to the stairwell, we had a better view of what had happened.

A cab driving down 10th Avenue had apparently driven out of control into a stationary cab in the gas station, crashed into it, and caused that car and the pump that it was at to ignite!!! Bizarrely, there was a blue SUV on the corner of 36th Street that was completely demolished.

Instead of leaving the scene, D and I stood in the stairwell trying to figure out who hit who, how Physics could have possibly led to this result, watching the firemen arrive and put the fires out, wondering if there were any bodies, etc.

Meanwhile, various neighbors congregated, just like last time, only this time they were in pajamas! How cute!

D and I eventually decided to go outside and talk to people, to see if anyone knew what had happened.

The eyewitness consensus was that an older woman driving the SUV (PA plates) was going down 10th Avenue THE WRONG WAY, and that the taxi had to swerve to get out of her way. She hit him anyway, causing him to launch into the gas station, hit the other car, and then, bang blow FIRE!

Fucking nuts.

Here are some photos:













Some thoughts about this:

1. The sound. It is not natural for humans to hear that sort of thing. It was so scary. I almost had a heart attack.

2. Being a spectator. D said "I now understand why spectators get injured in these sorts of situations." Rather than run away due to the prospect of being blown up with the gas station, we stood there discussing what was going on, trying to figure it out, etc.

3. Not knowing. We kept wondering "Where are the cabbies? Are they ok? Who hit who? How is this even possible?"

4. D. I love this boy. Had he not been there, I'd been insane. It was comforting to experience this with him, to be calm because of him, to have someone to share this sort of thing with.

5. My fire escape. There's been recent talk of putting my air conditioner on the fire escape, because having it in the window is causing a draft and given that the heat is never on in here, it's a problem. It is illegal to put things on fire escapes, but yesterday I realized that the most likely source of a fire would be this stupid gas station and my fire escape, should I escape onto it, is above the gas station. Clearly nobody will be using that fire escape. I'm not going to put the air conditioner out there, but I'd be more inclined to after yesterday's experience.

When we'd had enough time staring at the firemen, we came back upstairs, adrenaline rushing, and drew billiards-style diagrams on paper towels trying to figure out how that side of the woman's car had been destroyed if she'd hit the taxi driver in a head on collision, and how, then, that side of the back of his car was ruined. How did she hit the back of his car if she was driving down the wrong side of the road? No idea.

We calmed down, I took a shower while D tried to contact the New York Times to see if they were interested in the photos. I was fairly convinced that I had the only photo of the flames given that all of the news crews arrived only after the firemen had dealt with the situation. He found a tip-line email address. I quickly downloaded my photos, sent the one of the flames to The Times, and then ran out of the apartment as I was late for a doctor's appointment.

When we got outside, there were two news crews. I said "I wonder if I should tell them I have the photo." I decided to, as I felt very much like the photojournalist I aspire to be. I said "Hey, I have a photo of the fire." They said "Send it to us!" They then started asking us questions and said "Can we interview you?"

"Hell no," I said, but of course D consented.

He was so cute as an eyewitness in his scarf and winter coat, answering questions and explaining how the smoke looked like a blizzard and how things could have been much, much worse had things occurred slightly differently.

The interviewer said the story would air after football.

Fortuitously, D got an antenna for his TV last week, so we would actually be able to see the story! We decided to reconvene "after football" to see if my photos and D's interview made the local news.

As the day progressed, we realized that neither of us had any idea when "after football" was.

I called some boys I know in the city but they did not answer. I called Father and he said "You know better than to ask me questions about sports." D called a friend who also had no idea. D ended up asking a Best Buy Employee when football was on and got a definitive answer.

We went back to his apartment and sat glued to the TV. I watched "Smallville" episodes while checking back obsessively to various stations airing football, saying things like "THIS HAS BEEN THE LONGEST FOUR MINUTES OF ALL TIME!"

The first game ended after what seemed like 10 hours and the NBC News began, and HEADLINED WITH MY PHOTO!!!! AHHHH!!!!!!! "OH MY GOD THAT WAS MY PHOTO!" I said, nearly doing cartwheels on D's couch.

The story was good. It was about how this could have "been catastrophic for residents of this apartment complex on 36th Street." There was a shot of my apartment complex, with my stills interspersed. And then D's interview! It was awesome. D's body temperature rose about 15 degrees while watching himself on TV. Excitement! We were freaking out. We taped it. I called The Parents. The only problem is that they said that D took the photos. Of course. But whatever. I don't care! My photos were on TV!!! My babies! ON TV!!!!

The second story, which aired on ABC Eyewitness News, was more informative but featured less of us. We did learn, however, that the driver of the stationary cab that was hit and that ultimately went up in flames was inside the BP getting a coffee when his car was hit. Had he been at the pump he'd surely be dead. THANK GOD. It also had footage of the pump, which actually had gone caught on fire as well. It featured an interview with a neighbor who said something like "You never know what's going on at this corner, but it's always something!"

I think this was worth missing Thanksgiving in MA for.

Awesome!