Kirk is a story teller who learns from his life experiences and shares those thoughts with others. Reminds me of someone I know. I'm proud to say in his role as President of Global Client & Agency Solutions at Google, he is also a regular reader of this Weblog.

This story has no management or life message other than maybe "don’t text and drive:, or pay attention behind the wheel, or stay alert, or be prepared at all times. I had an experience last year that I think about every time I get on an interstate highway. (None of the photos used in this Weblog are from the actual event.)

It is the story of a time a car accident took place right in front of me, and my number was called to spring into action and help. Nothing trains you for a crisis, except your values and your sense of accountability. I hope this never happens to you, but if it does, when your number is called, answer.

On a clear sunny day I was tooling along US 3, a six-lane highway a couple of miles south of Manchester NH, traveling about 64.5 miles per hour, if you know what I mean, when about 100 yards in front of me, a car violently swerved to the right, then crossed three lanes of traffic to the left and crashed into the cement retaining wall between the north and south highways. The car hit sideways, spinning at or above the speed limit, smashing against the concrete barrier and leaving a debris field littered with pieces of glass and plastic all over the highway.

Just like in the movies, to my eyes it all appeared to me to be happening in slow motion. Big adrenalin surge, know what I mean? There was one car between mine and the accident scene and it slowed down in front of me in the middle lane. I came close to a stop in their trunk, and checked my mirror, concerned about getting hit from behind, but was able to safely swing around the mess and then…..realized I had to do something. My number was called. Me.

There was a car crash with potential serious implications for any passengers, and I realized that it was my job to help the passenger(s) first: there was no one else who could get there as fast as me. My number was called. I had no idea what I could be getting into, but I knew whoever was in that car was someone’s brother or sister or mom or dad or son or daughter or husband or wife, and I was going to make sure I did whatever I would do if it was my brother or sister or mom or son or wife. Me.

I quickly pulled over into the high-speed breakdown lane, put on my flashers and sprinted back to the smoking car, not knowing what I was going to find. Even now, a year later, when I think about it, the same feeling of dread and shock and vulnerability settles over me.  I was very, very scared and unsure about what I would do or needed to do or would be called to do. All I knew was that my number was called and it was time to act, not freeze.

Adrenaline was surging through my system, if you can imagine, as I looked through the shattered driver side window. I saw a shaken up, but conscious, woman in her late twenties or early thirties covered with white powder from the air bag as the interior filled up with contrasting black smoke. A lot of black smoke.

I didn’t really understand why cars caught on fire in situations like this, but I realized that this car could ignite or blow up any second. I watch the news.  As I tried to pull the door open to help the woman behind the wheel, it wouldn’t budge. It had been jammed shut by the crushed front end.

Oh sh*t. It was just me, there were no other resources in that moment. The other car had a couple of people older and more infirm than me, and they were watching me, along with all the passing cars on both sides of the road. Not exactly the kind of audience that anyone wants to perform for.

And while I have pressure in my job and in my life, we all do, that pressure was nothing compared to the pressure I felt being in that situation: less than 30 seconds after I witnessed the crash, with the possibility that the car could blow up and take me with it, or kill the woman trapped inside. Yeah, I was very, very scared.

I spread my legs and got a good two-handed grip on the door handle and yanked with close to everything I had. Nothing. It didn't budge. That was another oh sh*t. I tried again. Nothing. Another time. Nothing.

On the fourth try, thank goodness, the door popped open with one of those metal squeaks, or rather groans, I pushed it all the way open, the door loudly screeching the whole way as metal scraped against metal.

As I helped the the shocked driver to safety, far enough away from the car in the event that it burst into flames, I said, ‘thank goodness for air bags’ and she looked at me through dazed eyes and said, ‘thank god my kids weren’t in the car.’ Someone's mother.

Trucks and cars were whizzing by on the opposite site just feet from where we stood. On our side of the highway, cars were inching by, and I could hear the crunch crunch crunch as they drove over bits of plastic and glass from the destroyed vehicle. By this time, the couple in the other car had called 911 and told us that help was on the way.

The driver seemed to be ok, but there is no book or podcast that tells you what to do when you have just rescued someone, but I grabbed a couple of bottles of water from my car. I was thinking that if I had just had a near death experience, which I might have had, I would be thirsty. Plus I wanted to do everything I could to help because I will tell you, I felt bad for her. I thought about cracking the cap on the water bottle for her but decided if she could do it herself it would be an indication to me that she WAS ok.

I stood there with her for a while, resting against the Jersey barrier as she called someone who mattered to her. Not sure I remember the small talk between us because there was a lot of other stimulation.  After just a couple of minutes, I realized there was nothing else I could do, because, thankfully, I didn’t think she needed anything else except a new car.

The couple who stopped with me were standing on her other side and I felt they could serve as witnesses, if needed, when the police arrived: they had the same view I had. So, I walked slowly back to my car, sat behind the wheel for a few moments catching my breadth and quietly, and carefully, drove off.

You just never know when something will happen. I wish it hadn’t happened. I wish I hadn’t been there. And I wish that I could stop thinking about it, especially when I am on Route 3 in New Hampshire. But it did. I was. And I can't.

What I can do, however, is make doubly sure that I pay close attention when I’m driving and encourage you to do the same because anything can happen out there.

I realized after that day that I need to be ready. Again. When my number is called. We all do.

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