You know what’ll really take a lot of time out of your day? Getting hit by a car. I had so many things I was planning to do Monday that just didn’t get done. It was sooo annoying.

For those of you who have never been hit by a car, allow me to explain what it’s like. Dane Cook actually gave a pretty accurate description. First you flip upside down, then your shoe flies off (just one, not two), and then you hit the ground, landing on your hands and knees. And face. And then you get up, telling everyone you’re OK (although in actuality, you were just struck by a vehicle).

Now this is very uncomfortable, don’t get me wrong. I might even go so far as to say it’s painful. But the real pain begins when you start to think about the piles of bureaucracy you’re about to be buried under. No one can turn a two-second event into a seven-hour journey through paperwork quite like a health insurance company.

I started off the day with a spring in my step and two shoes on my feet. Yada yada yada, I’m exchanging information with a pleasant mustachioed gentleman who has recently struck me with his vehicle and who seems just as shaken as I am. Dane Cook was right again — the man’s handwriting was completely illegible. At this point I would advise you, kind reader, to call the police and have them make up a report, regardless of whether or not you’re planning to press charges. Why? The insurance company needs to see that report to prove you weren’t just throwing yourself down car-shaped stairs. (I learned this later, not having called them.)

I was content with going about my business after the accident, but “better” judgment told me I ought make my way to the Boston University infirmary, what with having just been airborne and all. This launched a series of events that would take hours and hours. The nurses at the infirmary (who are very nice, by the way) called a cab to take me to Beth Israel Medical Center, again because the insurance company wanted me to go. I was admitted after a reasonable wait. There I spent the next four hours answering the same series of questions five times to five separate healthcare professionals of various ranks (who all, by the way, were very nice) interspersed with long periods of lying in a rolling bed. I considered answering differently one time to see what they’d do, but it didn’t seem like the wisest of decisions.

One of the great things about Beth Israel is that they have you pee in a cup. I don’t know exactly why, but who needs a reason, really? Just thought I’d mention it.

Anyhow, after four hours or so, a nurse came by and asked me what I was still doing there. Followed by another nurse and three doctors. I told them, “I was hoping you knew,” upon which point I was released. That easy. Except not really, because I’ll be getting a bill in the mail for the co-pay, for which I’ll need a police report to be reimbursed. And who needs this extra paperwork? You guessed it! The insurance company.

OK, so this, for those who have been stupid enough to get hit by a car and not call the police immediately, is how one files a post-going-to-the-hospital accident report. First you call BUPD, who tell you to call the real police. I’m serious about this. Then you call 911 and they tell you they can’t take reports over the phone and hang up on you before you get a chance to ask them any questions. Then you call the police station, and they patch you through to 911, who tell you they can’t take reports over the phone, but answer your questions. Then you Google Earth the police station and turn on the “Local Rail” layer to find the nearest T-stop. You take the T and limp the rest of the way, only to be told you should call back tomorrow, using a number written for you on a Post-It note, which you are allowed to keep as a souvenir. Bear in mind, all of this happens the same day you were hit by a car, and now your scraped fingers and your bruised legs are forced to do the walking all over town.

This is why I would recommend avoiding getting hit by a car. I know all you kids think it’s supercool to go out taunting automobiles and robots, fulfilling your auto-robotic affixations, but it’s not. Because if you actually do get hit by a car, which approximately a zillion people do every second, there will be piles and piles of paperwork for you to sign. In triplicate. And you’ll have to walk to pick them up, dragging your tattered pants in your wake. Having just been hit by a car. Also, robots sometimes have lasers. They were built using quantum mechanics. Thank you for your time.

Ethan Rosenberg, a freshman in the College of Fine Arts, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at [email protected].