I only planned on cheating death once last night, by going out to dinner with Bob at Blowfish Sushi, a place advertised frequently on the radio with the story of blowfish and how the Japanese used to love eating it and dying. "Why, do you ask, did this tradition of eating and dying become such a favored pastime? Well... have you ever tasted blowfish?" the add says in a mischievous voice. Apparently, although it's incredibly poisonous and if cut wrong can kill its eater, blowfish is supposed to taste phenomenal. So after hearing it enough times on the radio, we were convinced that we had to try it out. We were an adventurous bunch; a little poisonous food would be entertaining, not to mention, if the legends were true, fucking delicious.
But on my way home from school, skateboarding a high speeds, anxious and excited to encounter this delicious and deadly poison on my tongue, I cheated death in a different way. I was hit by a car that didn't look around before he proceeded to careen from a side street that I was just about to pass. I'd been hit by cars before, but I had never been going this fast and I had never actually been hit seriously enough to make the KU-CLUNK! sound before. Because it was a straight-away, I was going pretty fast, and as he pulled out directly in front of me, I started to put my foot down but quickly realized I was going too fast and there was no way I'd stop in time. It was a pickup truck, and my adrenaline-induced calculations figured I'd miss the passenger side window and hit the back of the truck, so I reached my arms out and flattened my hands, preparing to stop myself.
But because all of this was happening in a matter of two seconds, I held my hands up too high and crashed into the back of the truck with my ribs instead of my arms. My board went under the truck as it stopped immediately upon hearing the sound every driver dreads--the sound of yourself driving into a person, and by the time I grabbed my board, ripped off my headphones, and started screaming at the guy who was looking at me through his back window, I only hoped that the man's throat was in his feet and he was more frightened than I was. I don't think I've been that angry in years, and I screamed at the guy as a big black lady who had witnessed from the sidewalk just stood there, wide-eyed, remarking a shocked "Holy shit" as I furiously grabbed my board. I didn't bother to get the plate number, or go up to the window and bash my skateboard over the guy's face; at that point I really just wanted to go home.
Unfortunately, that was the only chance I got to cheat death last night, because upon arriving at Blowfish Sushi, we found no evidence of poison warnings on the menu or even mentioning of blowfish. Confused, we asked the waitress. Her cute smile and laugh distracted us only until we realized that we'd been lied to! The fury! The anger! Yes, unfortunately, the jerks at Blowfish Sushi are liars indeed, and even though the sushi was pretty damn good, they do not offer blowfish on their menu because of how poisonous it is. I found myself confused, because why the hell would a place call themselves Blowfish Sushi, advertise blowfish sushi, but not offer blowfish sushi? I guess the fact that the three at the table next to us had never tried sushi before and were therefore blessed with a plethora of dishes, complements of the chef, that filled them up too quickly and caused them to give all their leftovers to us made up for it, but still, my disappointment remained. And I'd still been hit by a fucking car.