Being responsible

I'm fairly certain that most people, at least those with more than 17 brain cells, know that drinking and driving is stupid.  Lining up an alternative way home, be it a designated driver, public transportation, a taxi, a horse, or good old-fashioned walking, is the smart thing to do before you venture out for your night on the town.  If you are a regular reader of my humble blog, I'm also fairly certain that I've bludgeoned you over the head with this fact repeatedly.  But if you're new here and just joining us, welcome to the party.  Leave your keys in the bowl by the door, because you won't be using them.  We'll have a responsible designated driver take you home. 

Hopefully just not the same designated driver this next guy had, however. 

He was in his 30's, handsome, well-dressed, and with that short beard that makes women swoon and that I just can't seem to grow because my facial hair just hates me.  Um...ahem...Anyway, he was out at a bar (no doubt picking up chicks with that damned sexy beard), and he realised he had too much to drink.  He was far outside the city, and waiting for a taxi would take too long, so he asked one of his new buddies (that he had just met) to drive him home.  

He got in the car and was just telling the guy where he lived when I suppose his new friend saw his fancy suit and shiny watch and figured, "This guy must have some money!"  So he pulled a gun on him and tried to rob him.  The wise (but drunk) man quickly jumped right back out of the car, but unfortunately the alcohol blunted his reaction time and his reflexes.  

So he got shot, right?

No.  The asshole apparently decided, "If I can't rob him, no one can!"  Or something.  I still have trouble figuring out how these idiots think. Anyway, he did the next most logical thing: he hit him with the car.  

And then he ran him over.  

When the guy got to me, he could barely breathe because his chest was so badly crushed.  He ended up having 14 broken ribs (you only have 24 total), a punctured lung, a cardiac contusion (bruise of the heart muscle), a fractured scapula (shoulder blade), a broken neck, and lacerations all over his face.  

He was lucky to be alive, something of which I reminded him when I saw him in my office a month later for his follow-up appointment.  He had stayed in hospital for about 2 weeks before going home, and though he was improving, he was still very sore from all his injuries and was not back to work yet.  It would take several more weeks, I told him, but I expected him to make a full recovery. 

I also expected him to choose his designated drivers more carefully in the future.