>Parking Spots Aren’t Good Sleeping Spots

>This story of a man running over, and parking on, a sleeping drunk man is the perfect storm of oh fuck.

Robert Biggenow was having a good time with family. He was drinking, and drinking some more, and he decided to go to sleep. But he didn’t sleep in a conventional place. He went to sleep in the backyard, and then got up and decided to sleep in an alley. Why he would do that, I don’t know.

Where Biggenow had decided to continue his napping was another man’s parking spot, complete with bump that the guy had to go over to get into his spot. So when the fellow came home and drove over Biggenow, he thought he was just going over the bump…until he turned off the car and heard “Hey! Get this car off of me!” Oh dear, oh dear dear.

They tried to get the car off him, but eventually fire and police had to heave it off with all kinds of equipment. It looks like Biggenow will be ok.

This reminds me of something that happened to me. No, I wasn’t driving a car, and no, I wasn’t sleeping in an alley, don’t worry.

It was the day after the attack of the shower. But Steve needed to do laundry. Since he was not going to be able to carry a basket full of clothes down the stairs and load them into machines, I said I would do it for him. I was merrily walking down the stairs holding the basket in my hands, loo dee doo, when…my foot hit something! That something then made the sound of either a sleeping bag or a coat sliding as it slid down a few stairs. But there was weight behind it. For a split second, I thought to myself, “Did I just kick a dead body?”

I froze to the spot, trying to figure out where I would set the basket so I could get down on my knees and first try and wake this person up, and then check for breathing/pulse. I yelled something, I can’t remember what…and then the body groaned.

Whew! The person was very much alive! Then he slid down the rest of the stairs, and sort of flopped at the bottom. I asked him if he needed help, and all he could manage was “So tired…so tired.” I asked him a second time if he needed help, and he said no.

I stepped around him, and went to the laundry, thinking that if he was still there when I got back, I was calling the cops/911 or something. I had regretted not asking “Do you live here?” because our apartment building back then wasn’t secure, and from time to time, a bum or two had wandered in and flopped somewhere. But he was gone when I got back. I came upstairs, all shook up. I have never forgotten that story, and it happened six and some years ago. People always raise their eyebrows whenever Steve says “Hey Carin, remember when you kicked that guy down the stairs?” It makes me sound like a real jerk! But who expects a dude to be sleeping on the stairs? And who expects a dude to be sleeping in your parking space?

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