I have no idea what the usual speed limit in a parking lot should be. Especially one that measures--not too big. Pretty small, really. Maybe it is sixty miles an hour and I was totally in the wrong when I stepped off the sidewalk to cross the parking lot while you whipped by me close enough that perhaps, I did indeed see my life flashing before my eyes.
It was, in fact, multidimensional arrays. But whatever.
Now, here's the thing, Speedie.
Maybe it's legal, I don't know. And in running me over, you were in the right! I doubt it, but hey, crazy world. Let me explain what would have happened, even so....
1 - police report, requiring you to explain in detail how fast you were going, if you saw me, and miscellaneous detail. If I was generous, i'd say an hour. But with a death? I'm thinking you'll be talking until your voice gives out.
You're right! But they do not care. They are looking at my roadkill-like body and chewing gum thoughtfully. Yeah. This will take a while. Say hi to the DA for me. Just in case.
2 - my relatives. You don't know them, but my sisters are nuts and Child has the creepy potential to turn into Inigo Montoya with a laser "You killed my mother, prepare to die." It's not that I encourage it, it's just how it is. Now, granted, my sisters are a toss-up; this could go to the WHEE INSURANCE place, but one can plead post-partum depression and the other can plead some kind of during pregnancy depression and both can do basic math. If you are worth more than my insurance, the words 'wrongful death suit' are in your future. And they will cart in everyone that ever was in the same room with me to cry at my tragic death and wasted potential. Tiny infant nieces and nephews will be held up and poked to bring tears. Child will cry artistically for the cameras. While plotting your demise. Again, think of Inigo Montoya. I cannot emphasize too much that Child has the potential to build his own island and start experimenting on things I'm pretty sure only show up in comic books.
You're right! But they do not care. You get that, right? They. Do. Not. Care.
3 - guilt. I will haunt your ass until they drag me out of this dimension. Whether you feel bad about it or not, you will deeply rue my untimely demise well before I'm done. I will have eternity and a grudge and it's like you never saw a movie or something. Seriously. Go watch one.
You're right! But I do not care. Prepare to freaking suffer.
So think about this. You saved an entire one and a half seconds in real time with that speed. One and a half seconds. Maybe two. Maybe. Is it really worth it against the potential of what will assuredly be a lifetime of utter misery? With Child Montoya?
This has been a message from a coworker who didn't die, no thanks to you. Please consider driving below NASCAR in our tiny parking lot? Thanks.