I wrote this up about a week after it happened. April 2023.

Highway at rush hour. Five lanes packed with cars trundling home at sixty miles-per-hour. The vehicle in front of me slowed a little. I was incensed, did this driver not realize they were inconveniencing my day? But their speed dropped and dropped, all the way down to zero. I gripped my steering wheel helplessly, the other lanes speeding past, their wake shaking my little Nisan Versa.

There was movement in the stopped vehicle ahead of me. A man fumbling around in the driver’s seat. I leaned forward and squinted the sun out of my eyes. An emergency? A medical incident? A man finally sick of the same two hour commute every evening? He leaned out of sight. The driver’s side window rattled as if it had been struck. Something was wrong. For half a second, the silhouette of a leg craned back behind the driver’s seat. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Then the driver’s leg shot forward and pieces of glass sprinkled onto the pavement.

It had all happened in seconds. I didn’t even have a chance to consider moving my vehicle, the other lanes were moving too quick, plus I was enraptured by the action in the car ahead. Through the driver’s side window, a foot receded back into the car, and I was left blind. As I waited, and watched, my ears heard something strange. An oscillating thrum coming from the sky, loud enough to be heard over the traffic, and it was getting louder.

The driver threw himself out the broken window. He was nearly bald, wore a tan windbreaker, and moved fast as lighting. Hardly a second after I saw his feet hit the ground, he turned back to his car and reached for something in the back seat. It was a canvas duffle bag, whose contents will forever remain a mystery. I’d love to tell you that he looked my way, that he considered my car as a viable transport alternative, but the truth is he only shot a brief, furtive look at the sky, at that heavy thrum overhead, then ran for the highway’s concrete wall.

He vanished over the side and I never saw him again.

The whole thing took barely twenty seconds, and I didn’t know what to think. An opening appeared in the next lane, I swerved into it and drove off.

It took about a minute for me to realize I should call 911, long enough for that stranger and his duffle bag to be far in the rear-view mirror. The dispatcher answered flatly, and I blundered my way through an explanation of what happened. I’m pretty sure I repeated myself a few times in the explanation, but dispatcher listened to it all politely. When I finished speaking, she responded, “Yes, well… That’s a very bad man. We’ve remotely disabled his car” She paused, her tone reminded me of a parent trying to teach a child that a stove was hot, “Try to stay away from him. Is that it?” Her nonchalant response left me uncertain. Did she just not care? Was it actually not a big deal? Finally, I spoke.

”That’s all. Thank you” After a moment’s silence, she hung up.

That steady thrum in the sky was a helicopter, I realized that the moment I pulled into the other lane. It was only during the long, quiet drive home that I put together the rest. The fact that there was a helicopter meant the police were well aware of the situation, it also explained the dispatcher’s ambivalence. She had probably heard a hundred calls just like mine. Then there was the broken window. The police must have locked the doors when they disabled the car, and when that stranger realized he was trapped, he was forced to create an escape.

In retrospect, I consider myself lucky. Partially because I wasn’t hurt, but mostly because I had been gifted a front-row seat an authentically cinematic moment in real life. My Thirty seconds in an action movie.