Coming to America 6

Twist of Fate
By the time I had started my new job at Baylor University Medical Center, I was becoming broker and lonelier by the day. I couldn’t afford taxi service anymore (so much for my new best friend, Earl). Fortunately, the assistant nurse manager of my unit offered to give me a lift to and from work. She was great but I didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness and ask her for any other favors (like driving me to the grocery store), so I became a 7-eleven junkie on my days off and ate at the hospital cafeteria when I worked. I was twenty years old with no friends, no money and with the exception of going to a job that I hated, I was stuck in my apartment day and night. What a loser.

Then through a twist of fate, things started to turn around.

My apartment faced a fairly busy street but the sounds of cars passing didn’t bother me as I was a heavy sleeper. One night I was awakened by the sound of a loud “BOOM”. I rolled over and went back to sleep. A little while later I was awakened yet again by the sound of sirens. When I opened my eyes, flashing red lights were outside my bedroom window. Whatever. I went back to sleep. Loud voices and what sounded like 2-way radio communication woke me up again.

I got up to see what all the ruckus was about when I walked into my living room and tripped over one of my sofa chairs that was normally located about four feet away from my bedroom door. I hadn’t turned any lights on yet so I couldn’t quite figure out what the bright white light was coming from my living room wall. When I did turn on the light I could see that my wall was crushed in and my sofa chairs were thrown across the room. Earthquake? I carefully opened the door to my apartment, fearful of what devastation I would witness on the other side when I heard someone say “Hey! There's somebody in there!” They were referring to me. Clad in my scrubs, sleepy-eyed, bed-headed and barefoot, I stepped outside of my apartment to a round of applause, gaining quasi 'celebrity status' at my apartment complex immediately. They may not have learned my name but I was known as "the girl who slept through a car slamming into her living room."

I guess Dallas wasn’t so bad after all. I may still be broke and car-less but at least I had someone to talk to at the pool. Part 7: Banking American-Style

(..the lady who ran into my apartment was fine – minor cuts and bruises only.)