It brings on many changes

Getting off the Harbor Bay ferry today*, there was a car parked up on the sidewalk, where riders usually exit to the parking lot.

And an older man, slumped in it.

As bike riders on the ferry, custom demands we exit last. I'm not really sure why. Is it so that pedestrians and drivers get rewarded and can get home to their family first? Or because our bikes are perceived as threats? Shouldn't we deserve to ride home quickly, and punish the drivers among us?

As I beeped my Clipper card to tag off, I noticed a curious herd of people forming, as they exited the roofed tunnel from the ferry landing. Not a crowd exactly, but hard to press through them all with my bike. I was getting annoyed. What's the point in leaving work early, if you can't get home?

They surrounded a newish gray car, that was parked up on the sidewalk, headlights facing across the water. High beams, if on, would have lit up every exiting 4:30 p.m. ferry rider.

There's no great way for a car to get up on that sidewalk. And, who parks where people line up? Nobody. Ever.

I went to get a closer look; maybe it was being shown off, and was on sale? I'm in the market to buy a car, so I was curious about the make and model, in case it could be a commuting option.

But no salesman was there. I peered through the glass.

There was a piece of printer paper on the dash, with large hand-written Asian characters on it. They didn't seem Chinese. But I couldn't tell if they were Korean or what. Distracted, I looked to see inside the car. The top of the head of an older Asian man, with thinning combed-over black hair, was visible in the driver's seat. Something was wrong.

Belted into his seat, his chin slumped into his neck, glasses facing down into his lap, it occurred to me that he was sleeping. He could be a grandpa.

".. a gun ..", someone said to my right.

I moved several bike lengths to the left of the car. But my eyes stayed on it.

Was he dead? Sick? Had anyone called the cops? I brought out my cel phone to take a picture.

Shit, picture? Someone should call the cops.

I brought up the phone app's number pad.

"..back off, don't touch anything. No pictures!", said a man in a black bomber jacket with a large badge on his shoulder. Oh. Security. Already communicating on the phone with someone. Hopefully 911.

The fire station couldn't be more than 2 blocks away. Soon enough, I heard sirens. A pair of squad cars whisked into the parking lot. A pair of fire vehicles soon after. How long had the people in line for the ferry stared at this car, this man, and not done anything? When had the car parked as it had? When had the man become a still figure?

I backed up even further, and took a picture from a distance. From the side. It wouldn't be ok to post it. Newspapers don't report on suicides. Was it a suicide? Was there really a gun? It would be safer, I said to another rubbernecker, to move down the path. Look out, I told some bicyclists. There is a situation ahead.

There didn't seem to be any blood I could see from this distance, but I was too ashamed to want to approach the yellow crime tape. He seemed so peaceful. A gun made zero sense. Maybe he took some pills and could be helped.

I composed a quick message to the neighborhood Facebook group I belong to**. I went to select the picture, but the huge oiled naked butt of a pornographic photo I had recently viewed swam up in its place. Whoa. Don't post that.

Also, don't post any photos. This guy might have died. His family might not know yet. What kind of person are you, anyways? Porn on your phone? Showing your neighbors a non-newsworthy photo of a possible suicide? Nobody wants to be friends with anybody like that. Catholic guilt settled in.

Painfully bright, late afternoon sun. Cloudless. Perfect. Except for the car. And its man.

I finished my post. There was a man with a gun in his car, slumped, I said. I hadn't seen any gun.

The neighbors told me to call 911.

The first responders are here, I said. The scene is taped up.

Should we come down there, they asked each other?

Better stay out of the way, they responded.

Terrible, they chimed.

Sad, some added.

Teardrop emoticon.

I wondered if it was too soon to make it into a parking shaming meme. Or if the man thought that today was bike to work day, and had mistaken his car for a bike. But being so crazy, because tomorrow was actually bike to work day. Or, if he looked 80, being Asian, he was probably 1004 years old.

And what it would be like, to decide to kill yourself? At the ferry, with drugs and a gun for backup. Or if he had thought he would kill the ferry riders. Or just one ferry rider who had made him unhappy.

Or if they would pump his stomach, and he would come back to moving, and have to deal with his younger family members. Explain to them how the perfect sunny day had ruined his plans to run his car off the edge of the dock, into the water. How he didn't really want to die, cold in the water, but being prepared, had a couple of backup plans, and went with the pills. So the car resale value would remain high for his heirs.

I don't like any of these thoughts, for multiple reasons.

I pedaled home slow, eyes on my android smartphone.

Because everybody likes a bicyclist who is using their phone while they ride.

* May 15, 2016
** I have deleted my Facebook and demanded my data be forgotten