There wasn't really time to think. All I had time to do was say out loud exactly what I was thinking, "What does he think he's doing?" to my friend that was seated next to me in my car. My best friend and I, in my tiny little car, waiting to exit from one of two driveways at a small local restaurant, were at a standstill as traffic charged by this sunny, cold day.
I was waiting for the big truck to drive by, so I could pull out behind him, make a quick left down a side street and bring my husband his Greek salad for lunch while he worked from home. The truck didn't have its signal on and it didn't appear to be slowing down, and then suddenly it was heading straight for me, us, my car.
And then he veered to the side, to the embankment in the middle of the two drives, and it was as if he thought he could drive over the large decorative cement lawn sculptures that were half buried under dingy mounds of snow.
And suddenly the truck was stopped, good and stuck, mounted up on a giant mushroom sculpture. I slowly backed my car into the lot-as I couldn't get around him to the street. I rolled down my window-to call out to him as he got out of the truck and stumbled around among parked cars. Not one soul came out of the restaurant to be witness to this drama.
"Are you all right?," I called out.
"I guess we need to stay, since we witnessed this," my friend whispered.
I get out of my car as the thin young man claws at another truck, trying to open its locked door.
"That's not you truck. Are you okay?" I ask again. He stumbles about, in a daze.
"I couldn't see. I feel dizzy. I think I have low blood sugar," he slurs as he slumps to his knees.
"I'm calling 9-1-1. It's cold, you can't stay out here. (He is only wearing a sweatshirt and it is 9 degrees Fahrenheit outside) We need to get you inside," I say as I try to coax him off the ground. My friend comes to help me lift him up. I make the call and the dispatcher assures me that help is on the way.
We get him back into the passenger seat of the truck he was driving, he sits hunched over as he picks up his cracked smart phone and calls someone from his family, to tell them about the truck.
Minutes later the police, ambulance, and fire crews all arrive. I tell them what we saw and then we leave.
Did I do the right thing? Was he having a health emergency? Did he just fall asleep at the wheel and realized that he would be in big trouble for what had happened to a truck that obviously was not his? I will never know. I am just glad that help was there so quickly when it was needed. I hope he ends up being okay and that this moment in time becomes a long ago distant memory for us both one day.