This is part three of a three-part story.
Within seconds of hanging up with the 911 dispatcher, I heard sirens below the bridge. The NYPD and FDNY paramedics quickly ascended the station stairs and went to work.
With the scene secured, they made all the passengers exit the train. The train was half way out of the station, and I can’t even tell you how they remedied that situation. I only know it happened.
Through the crowd of people, I saw a cop point at me and yell, “Hey lady! You called 911 right? Can you wait around and tell us what you saw?” I shook my head yes, as the woman who had helped me stop the train, disappeared into the crowd.
They got the guys leg out, and as they were strapping him to a long spine board, he came to. The paramedics started asking him, “Are you OK? Are you drunk? Hey buddy! How much have you had to drink?!”
The man couldn’t put together a coherent sentence, so they let him rest. The next thing I know, they whisked him down the stairs. And just like that, he was gone.
The cops spoke with me and took down my account of the incident. After 20 minutes they let me leave. I was left shaken and disappointed. I saw this thing through, and I would never find out how it ended.
I ran home as fast as I could. As soon as I saw Andy, I started wailing like a banshee. What I had witnessed sunk in once my adrenaline rush subsided. I cried for what felt like hours as visions of the man’s twisted leg bounced around my head.
Then 6 months later, I received a call from an MTA lawyer who wanted to speak with me. The guy was suing the MTA for his injuries and they wanted my side of the story. So I told the truth. Exactly how it happened.
The lawyer told me that the MTA was looking to settle, although not for the full amount as the passenger was extremely intoxicated. The MTA was pushing comparative negligence. Rightfully so.
I asked the lawyer about the guy, and he told me he was doing OK. This pleased me as it gave some closure to the situation.
If I had to guess, I would bet that the drunken straphanger has now healed with a nice pay-day from the MTA. He may never appreciate the role I played during the incident, but I learned a lot from him and the events that evening.
One thing is for certain, life is way too short to worry about a 300 lb. woman calling me a fat bitch.