Way back in July (the 14th, to be exact), I witnessed a disturbing accident while traveling downtown on my beloved 27. I happened to be sitting in a window seat on the same side as the door, so I had a good view of the boardings. At 20th & Yesler, I watched as the driver lowered the ramp for a dapper, fedora-wearing older man in a fancy, electric wheelchair–the kind with shocks and a cushioned, contoured seat with armrests.

Like countless wheelchair passengers before him, the man maneuvered his chair into the correct position and began rolling up the ramp. Unlike countless wheelchair passengers before him, he didn’t make it all the way. Before his back wheels had even reached the incline, the man’s chair suddenly flipped, sending him crashing, back-first, onto the pavement.

Most of the passengers (me included) gasped and then froze, but two good Samaritans jumped out of their seats to help him. Some of the accessories (the wheel covers, for example) had come off of his chair, so it took them a few minutes to get him recombobulated and on the bus. During those minutes, they asked several times if he was OK, but he wasn’t able to do much more than nod.

The bus driver, who had, surprisingly, stayed in his seat (I vaguely remember learning in my bus driver class that they’re required to do this), called in on his radio to report the incident. The person he talked to must have said it was OK to move on, because he pulled away from the stop as soon as the man was buckled in. This I also found surprising, since most bus “incidents” I’ve witnessed (usually falls involving rainy weather and slippery aisles) have caused long delays: interviews, form signing, visits from trained medics and Metro personnel, etc.

In this case, there was no delay, even though it wasn’t clear that the victim was OK. It seemed to me that he should be taken to a hospital and observed for signs of a serious head injury, or at the very least, escorted to his destination. I stayed silent, though, worrying and wondering but doing nothing.

The man got off at Broadway. I was somewhat reassured when, on his way down the ramp, he said to the driver, “Next time, I’ll put it in low gear.”

He wasn’t hurt too badly to tell a joke. Still, I worried about him for the rest of the day, and I’ve thought about him many times since–namely, every time someone boards one of my buses using the wheelchair ramp. (Since I have no idea what caused the accident in July–Was the man’s chair defective? Did he operate it incorrectly? Did the driver lower the ramp in an unsafe location?–I have no way of predicting how likely I am to witness another.)

Today, again on the 27 (headed east this time), and again sitting in a door-side window seat, I saw the same man, in his same fancy chair, wearing the same fedora, waiting in front of some senior apartments at the edge of downtown. As the driver lowered the ramp to let him on, my stomach clenched with anxiety (or maybe it was just Bus Baby stomping on one of my vital organs). Apparently, his did, too. He grabbed his fedora with his free hand and leaned forward as far as he could before easing sloooooowly up the incline. This time, he made it just fine.

I’m pretty sure he was in low gear.