Can You Call Me A Cab

We had just pulled into the parking lot at the grocery store to shop for dinner when a man on a bicycle rode up to the engine. I stepped out of the rig to see what he wanted and in a very thick Phillipines accent he said, "Can you call me a cab?". Really? Who exactly does he think we are? I responded incredulously, "Can we call you a cab???". He said, "No. Can you call me a cob?" "A cob?...I don't understand. Cob? Wait, call you a cop?". "Yes. I been chot?"  "You've been shot?!!!"

Once again, I am always amazed by what people tend to think is important. Personally, if I'd been shot and was talking to a paramedic I would probably lead with the fact that I had been shot and worry about the police later.

I told him to sit down on the tailstep of the engine and tell me what had happened while I examined him. His story was as follows: He had been out for a bike ride and was going over the overpass from the neighboring town into ours when a car drove by, someone leaned out of the window, and shot at him. He felt a hot, sharp pain on his right side but kept riding. I found a small hole in his t-shirt and a small red mark on his side. It looked like it was just a pellet gun but it had enough force to go through his shirt and he easily could have crashed in the roadway. He declined an ambulance and we called the cops to take a statement from him.

He told us that in the Phillipines he had been a resistance fighter for many, many years and was never injured. It took coming to The United States and going on a pleasant sunny-day bike ride for him to get shot. 'Murica.