It's one of Those Weeks

This morning before work, I was walking into Chinatown to the Post Office on E. Broadway to pick up my passport for the upcoming vacation to Costa Rica, when a white van made a left turn through the crosswalk too fast and knocked me over. I slipped hard, fell flat on my back by the driver's door, and saw him looking down at me. Then, as I started to get up, he sped off toward the FDR. A little Chinese woman on the sidewalk was shaking her hand and yelling at him. It was all very quick, and I just kept going, ruminating on all the clever things I should have said or done; throw a shoe, perhaps. Or shout "Wanna back up and try again?" If he had rolled down his window and asked if I was ok, I could have asked "of course I'M ok, but you look like you need a doctor! It must really hurt, having your head up your own ass like that." So while I was muttering to myself and holding my left arm, I heard a tinny voice shouting "Mister-Mister! Mister-Mister!" and I turned around to see the sidewalk lady running towards me, holding out my wristwatch. It got knocked off and was lying in the street. Thanks a lot, Mr. Asshole-in-the-white-van. Going to the Post Office is bad enough without your help.