If anyone remembers me mentioning how squeamish I am around blood, guts, body horror, etc., you can imagine my 1,000 yard stare after witnessing the aftermath of a motorcycle accident that happened last night two houses down the street from me...ruining a young person's life at the end of your own is the kind of selfish carelessness and irresponsibility that cannot go unpunished.
Oh yeah, been there, done that; can relate. I used to live on a country road right down from our high school; hilly, no margin, maybe one and a half lanes, basically a half mile of blind spot in either direction. So naturally, April and May were "country boy" Darwin award competitions when the high schoolers would tear ass down that road in vehicles they had no business driving in the first place, getting into head-on and sideswipe collisions with jaw-dropping regularity. There was a wreck in front of our house once a week on average; a truly nasty one about once a year.
My personal fave was when Dipshit A was hill-hopping in his aftermarket customized ricer (Fast and the Furious hadn't come out yet, this kid was just ahead of the curve), and met Dipshit B in his lift kit 40" tire compensator pickup head on. Dipshit A had his head and arm out his window, Dipshit B went over the ricer, crushed the hood and roof, caught some (admittedly sick) air, and rolled over while Dipshit A's car got body slammed into the pavement.
Dipshit A was somehow still conscious after this, Dipshit B got knocked out cold because he didn't have his seat belt on and slammed his head against the roof and steering wheel. Dipshit A came running up to our doorstep, every bone in his left arm broken and his ulna sticking out of his wrist, with a broken nose and literal tire marks on his face. We already had 911 on the line.
First responder gets there, and naturally he's fresh out of (the same) high school, so we all know (or at least know of) each other -- small rural Indiana high school. It's one of his first calls, so he takes one look at Dipshit A and runs off to the weeds to dispose everything he's eaten in the last twelve hours. My mom, who used to be an EMT, goes to take care of him, give him a bit of a pep talk, and distract him taking care of Dipshit B while I deal with Dipshit A.
Naturally, Dipshit A's in shock and doesn't fully understand his left arm's the next best thing to ground beef, and doesn't want to do anything but see how bad the damage is to his shitty little ricer. So I'm stuck there, half-wrestling this kid into a proper lying position telling him "I checked out your car dude, it's just a little roof and hood damage, don't worry about it" (spoiler alert, it wasn't) and trying to keep him calm/distracted/alert/aware until EMS arrives.
It's at that point Dipshit B comes to, and he's clearly concussed AF...but not so concussed he doesn't understand his truck just got totaled, and wants to have a "conversation" with Dipshit A about the wreck. Dipshit B was on the football team, and I was having to start considering what I'd have to do to take on a heavily-concussed varsity high school football player if he seriously wanted a go at Dipshit A. Luckily I didn't have to, because that's the point the cops, VFD, and actual EMS showed up.
What they saw when they got there was an 18-year old first responder puking his guts out on the side of the road, with one concussed 17-year-old stumbling around our front yard screaming and spoiling for a fight, a 46-year-old woman trying to talk him down, one 17-year-old with a mangled arm and bloody tire-marked face, and 15-year-old me talking to that kid about FFA shit. The only one not covered in blood at this point is the first responder, and he'd somehow puked all over his shirt and pants. Not to mention the twisted wreckage of a ricer in our yard, and a flipped-over pickup in the corn field across the road.
Good times. Still not as bad as when a kid the year below me got disemboweled by his own car's steering column and had to be cut out with the jaws of life. To this day I have no idea how he survived that.