what not to do in an emergency III (from Commonwealth v. Nolan, 634 A.2d 194 (Pa. 1993))

Imagine you are the owner of a bar. Two people run brandishing pistols. When one yells “don’t move or I’ll shoot,” a range of appropriate responses would be politely giving up the money, not moving at all out of sheer terror or possibly even running away for cover. This woman thought the best course of action was walking toward the robbers and yelling at them to leave. As a reward for her brave decision to bring harsh words to a gun fight, she was shot three times. I realize that I only have book-learnin’ and not “real-world” experience, but one thing I’ve learned, as a general rule of thumb, is yell at angry people with guns. Politely ask the gentlemen to kindly leave your establishment; you’ll probably only get pistol-whipped for that.

This should be the last of teh "what not to do in an emergency" series for a while. I know it will be hard to live without any more, but you'll get over it. Or you won't. I don't care.

what not to do in an emergency II

Fifteen days after a massive terrorist attack on the subway (or tube, as they say) and one day after a second such attack, you are told by police to stop while entering the station. One might ordinarily heed the warning, especially in light of the public “shoot to kill” orders issued to the policy. Instead, this guy took it upon himself to jump a gate and sprint onto a subway car. Such a response to an order to stop seemed to pique the police’s suspicions as the poor sap was shot five times. I’m not saying that the man deserved to die, but he was terminally stupid. If I stand up on an airliner and get out my boxcutter to try and open the infernal bag of peanuts, I shouldn’t be surprised if some sky marshal shoots me (that the government employee would be awake enough to react should be something of a shocker).

Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people

The three most amusing/notable anecdotes of last week:

3. The Gaytor broke Rule Number 3 of the Common-Law of Washrooms. I was sitting in the stall when someone sits in the one next to me. After a short while, the other person, who turned out to be my fellow law clerk, started talking to me. This is a grievous breach of the no-talking-to-anyone-sitting-down rule. Restatment (Third) Washrooms §3(b). The only two more serious offenses are looking (especially heinous if (1) eye contact is made or (2) the person look down while looking at you) and touching (Mr. Fleming creeped me out when he patted my back while I was at a urinal).

2. Andrew, attempting to justify how slowly he was righting, stated pompously “would you tell Van Gough to finish the Sistine Chapel by tomorrow?” While I realize that Van Gough is a common Italian name and could easily lead to confusion, one should make sure they’re correct when making analogies regarding their own brilliance.

1. A half-hour before my alarm clock was set to go off, the phone rings. I answer, and it’s the wife sounding very distraught. Apparently she couldn’t remove her key from the ignition. I told her to try turning the wheel, but that was to no avail. The problem continued until a fellow associate tried; she made the truly brilliant move of putting the car in park. I’ve heard it helps. (In Lauren’s defense, the thing in her dashboard that indicates in which gear she is doesn’t work, so there was some degree of guesswork on her part).

In other news, I learned something wonderful today. The drunken sister-in-law is moving back to Houston. Not only will this raise the crime rate (she is a repeat shoplifter), but she told the wife “now we can hang-out all the time!” I’m really looking forward to this semester.

I’ll give 25¢ (.14£) to the first person (other than the wife) who can identify the song from which I stole the title of this post.

what not to do in an emergency:

From a case the Gardale the Gaytor found:

"The plaintiff maintained that the patient would probably have survived the heart attack had she been transferred to the hospital in a timely manner. Nurse Maddox admitted during her deposition that she had not called EMS personnel - but rather had gone into the staff break room to smoke."

me: 2; the car: 1

the enemy:

I have added another element to my skills. As a sub-set of car fixing skills I already have ‘tire changing skills’ and ‘almost jump-starting my wife’s car skills’, I can add ‘headlight-bulb changing skills.’ After a mere 20 minutes, some crying and a call to daddy, I vanquished the old light and installed a fresh one. I realize that I typically exude machismo, but it really showed with my sick auto-maintenance display. Go me.

In all seriousness, the recent car-trouble incidents showed how nice the good-folk of the Dena are. The wife and I spent two bloody hours in a Pasadena Wal-Mart parking lot with the hood up, either fiddling with the battery or wainting for the tow-truck (it took 45 minutes for him to make the 2/3 mile trip). In that time, everyone who passed by – including the security guard – just stared at us blankly. Tonight, the wife and I were in the parking lot of a Pearland Wal-Mart with the hood up in 20 minutes while I was engaged in mortal combat with the light bulb. In that time, a family of five parked to our left, and the husband immediately came over, asked if I had any problems, stuck his hand under the hood and tried to explain what I should do; the explanation was a bit over my head as I’m pretty sure he mentioned some type of tool (screw-driver? wrench? spacely-sproket?). A bit later, I had defeated the old bulb and was attempting (vainly) to install the new one. A guy and his wife parked to our other side, and he told us he was a mechanic and asked if there was anything he could do to help. I told him I thought I could do it, but I’d take his help if I was still out there when he was done shopping. As if it wasn’t enough that both of the cars beside me offered to help, the mechanic came back out of the store to check on us. By that time we were testing whether the new light worked (it did), but it was appreciated nonetheless. I guess I don’t hate all people, just Pasadenans.

got nothing

I don't have much to say, so I'll post some pictures of my grandfather's new kitten. If this isn't top-notch blogging, I don't know what is.

What is wrong with the Financial Aid Office?

I received my financial aide award last night, and I doubt it could be more screwed up. They gave me a $5,000 work study award despite the fact that I emphatically told the office I didn’t want it (and they assured me it wouldn’t be a problem); this comes off of the total budget, so now I won’t be able to borrow as much. Losing $5,000 in loans puts a serious damper on the plan to get our of our lease and move to Kingwood. What bothers me even more, is that they (note: this could make me sound like a pompous ingrate, so be warned) lowered my friggin’ scholarship by $1,000. I met the minimum GPA to get it renewed, but they got rid of the old ones and gave a new one. I really don’t want to have to sue the school, so they had better get this straightened out pretty quickly.

the hat

I’m sure everyone knows my blue South Texas hat; the fine companion I wore to school everyday (except for the three days I wore the suit). Over the months it got dirty, sweaty and stinky. After over a year of yeoman’s service, it finally gave up the ghost. It gave me a rash on my forehead, and now I must, with a heavy heart, buy a new hat. I’ll probably still wear it to exams, but you’ll finally get to see me in a different hat in August. The hat is dead, long live the hat.