The One Where Michelle Gets Hit by a Car

Now, this is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down. And I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there. I’ll tell you how I got hit by a car in Japan and confused a lot of people into thinking I had brain damage because I’m Asian.

So About What Happened…

On the morning of March 17, 2014, I set out for a run through the narrow, alley-like side streets in my neighborhood, admiring the blossoming flowers and cherry trees.

Unfortunately, these side streets didn’t have any traffic stops or signals of any kind, just a “yield if you see something and/or proceed with caution” sort of deal.

Cars often make rolling turns at higher speeds than I’m used to.

Anyhow, I jogged to a narrow intersection and not seeing any oncoming cars, started to cross.

Out of nowhere, I heard a loud thud and began tumbling.

Before I could realize what was happening, I was face down on the pavement.

You know how people say life flashes before your eyes?

False.

For me, it was like a crash scene in the movies—you know, how they splice together rough cuts as the person or car tumbles.

First I saw the sky, then a tree, then my hand, then a car, then the ground.

Once my body came to a halt, a quick look at my surroundings told me what had happened: I’d been hit by a car, and that loud bang earlier was the sound of me flying off said car.

The amount of information the brain can process in a matter of seconds is incredibly remarkable.

After I stopped moving, I remember trying to figure out if I was alive.

Again, strangest feeling in the world.

The next 10 seconds turned into a survival mode checklist:

Jesus, what just happened?  I remember hearing a car screech and a loud bang.

Was that the sound of me flying off the car? I think I just got hit by a car.

I just got hit by a car. A car.

OK.

SHIT.

Can I move?

I looked around. Eyes, check. Oh, my contacts are still in!

I moved my head. Head and neck, check. Good, not a vegetable.

Alright, arms and legs, please work.  I waved my arms and legs slightly while still face down like a tragic starfish. So far, so good.

God, my face feels like it’s falling off. I wonder if this look will hold up until Halloween. Now, where am I? Oh right, I’m still in the intersection.

I was in so much pain and shock that my body just wanted to stay on the ground and fall asleep.

I eventually pulled myself off the street where I found the driver of the car that hit me had pulled over, completely hysterical.

Lost in Translation

Just like much of my experience abroad, the rest of my day turned into an unintentional, hilariously confusing mess lost in translation.

I couldn’t help but laugh as the lady tried to understand what I was attempting to tell her in my broken Japanese.

I was just so relieved to be alive at that point.

Miraculously, my phone was still functioning despite the smashed screen.

I called my manager to tell her what happened and asked her to explain my situation to the driver.

My manager told me that an ambulance was on its way, and that she would meet me at the hospital.

In the ambulance, the EMTs resorted to repeating and shouting the questions they had for me when their medical queries surpassed my basic language skills, because saying something louder is an effective way to bridge the language gap.

At the hospital, the staff grew increasingly concerned that I’d suffered brain damage as all I was able to say in Japanese was, “I’m American,” and “I don’t speak a lot of Japanese.”

Why else would an Asian girl say she couldn’t speak Japanese… in Japanese?

As more nurses and doctors were called over, I felt like a strange science experiment: strapped down to a table under blinding fluorescent lights while I, the newest alien specimen they had no idea what to do with, was being observed.

My manager was finally able to see me after a few exams just before I had to give my statement to the police, and I couldn’t have been more grateful or embarrassed.

Grateful because I couldn’t communicate with anyone and she was able to help me out, and embarrassed because here I was, a 23-year-old adult, yet I couldn’t take care of my own emergency myself.

I’d like to think that I was generally tolerant of everyone I had to deal with that day– or rather, those who had to deal with me– but one question the officer asked really got to me.

He asked if I saw anything that I should have noticed prior to crossing the street, and after I answered no, he asked if I was sure.

“No, officer, I saw the car but I just thought it was a good day to get hit by a moving vehicle because I had nothing else really going on today.”

My x-ray results came back and somehow I hadn’t broken any bones or suffered any head injuries.

Just a bum hip and a bit of a wrecked face.

I had to see a final doctor before I could go home, so I was released into the general waiting room where the driver of the car and her boss were waiting for me (it’s a cultural thing).

The boss apologized profusely. Turns out they work for an insurance company, oddly enough.

My manager had to return to work, but the driver and her boss stayed with me to help me with the paperwork.

Using Google Translate, the driver translated the information the doctors gave me about what to watch out for the next 24 hours. Thank you, technology!

As we wrapped up the paperwork, I realized I had absolutely no money on me.

I also had no idea where the hospital was in relation to my home.

So the driver’s boss ended up driving me home with the driver following behind us, because there was no way I was getting in her car.

Although better in the car than under, am I right? ;)

Hit me with your car? Shame on you. Stop me from getting good food? Impossible.

By the time I got home, it was already mid-afternoon.

Frustrated that I’d pretty much lost an entire day off, I took a shower, cleaned up my bloodied face, and hobbled on to a train to meet my friends for dinner despite being told to rest.

I might’ve spent half the day in a hospital but I’ll be damned if it disrupts my dinner plans.

As a friend and I waited for another friend to arrive, an American man heard us speaking English and stopped to ask for directions.

I took out my phone to look up the directions and upon seeing the smashed screen, he joked, “Nice screen.”

Side note, if you’re asking someone for help, especially in a foreign country regardless if the people helping you speak English or not, maybe don’t be a sarcastic dick about it.

Anyhow, exhausted, hungry, and having had enough condescension for the day, I snarked, “Yeah, I just got hit by a car today.”

He looked at me as I pointed to my busted face.

The absolute joy I felt as I watched his face melt from smug to horrified was just *chef’s kiss*– priceless.

And that, friends, is how I survived yet another day abroad and lived to tell more tales of a life in constant cultural confusion.