the Fifty First Story

When I was first riding a bicycle in Boston, it was a little old upright English three speed. She was a great, easy little bicycle. Her name was Daphne. Riding to work one day, I was hit by a car. There was no serious damage, either to me or my bike (those things are tanks) and the driver was not confident in her legal status, so I sent her on her way. The biggest issue with the bike was that the seat post had bent, so I pulled up onto the sidewalk to try to straighten it enough to continue on my way. In about 3 minutes, the BU cops showed up. I said I was fine, and sent them on their way. Then a Boston city police car pulled up. I explained that I was fine, and they left. About 30 seconds later a firetruck pulled up. I explained that my bicycle was unlikely to explode, but while we were still talking, another firetruck and an EMT guy showed up. Yet again, I explained that I was fine. Then another policeman showed up- the EMT guy took over the job of pointing out my lack of injuries. Finally, about 10 minutes after the crash (longer than I would have been held up there if not for all the interruptions) an ambulance showed up. The EMT guy told them I was ok, and just fixing my bike. They wanted to take me in just to check things out. I was already late for work, knew I was uninjured, and was not going anywhere. They tried to insist. I said no. Then one of them piped up with "well, at least let us clean your road rash". I was going to work and didn't have a  full first aid kit with me, so that actually sounded ok, until he followed it with "just step into the back of the van, and we'll get it cleaned up right away. I looked at the EMT guy. He shook his head and mouthed "no". I said I'd be happy to sit on the curb while they did it. They looked really quite pissed. I am utterly convinced they would have kidnapped me to the hospital.