Twenty seconds after I locked my front door I had a weirdness. The weirdness started earlier though… Right before I left.
Don’t take your Palm charger.
Don’t take it.
There is a hill next to my house, it’s pretty steep, and everyone who owns a bike loves to go down it and coast. It gets pretty fast. My old bike, which was probably an eighty dollar Toys’R’Us or Wal-Mart, had a heavy frame, and slightly shorter, which made it great for cornering. My new Trek has a light frame and is taller, which makes it’s balance a bit different. I start down the hill, like I’ve done a dozen times already on this bike. I’m Mr Super Cool. I’ve got my headphones with my music, I’ve got my twenty dollar Dockers sunglasses on, which I think look pretty cool, and I’m standing up on my pedals, king of the world. Or at least Myrtle Ave. At the bottom of the hill on the right there are two women talking, I make eye contact, but don’t smile or wave, I’m Mr Super Cool, and Mr Super Cool doesn’t wave or smile unless it’s at a pretty young thing. Next thing I know, I’m limping around the intersection at the bottom of the hill and saying “I’ve just got to walk it off,” Who am I talking too? Then I remember.
Dead center in the road, I started to make a left handed turn, the tires skid out from under me, my left side goes down, with the bike above me and the asphalt under me. Leather rips, pants tear, skin shreds. I stand up. I laugh. I notice I have an audience. “Whoops,” I say. Then, I realize my leg hurts. My arm hurts. I start to walk, I have to move, the pain will go away if I move. I don’t know how I know this, I do. I move. It helps. “I’ve just got to walk it off,”
“Are you OK?” is one of the most stupid things that a person can ask another person, in my opinion. If you have to ask that, the answer is “no”. Nothing immediately comes to mind as to what would be a more appropriate way of showing care and/or compassion, but I know there has to be. The two women hovered around me, one of them picked up the bike and handed it back to me, the other offered to get me some water. I told them that I was ok and I’d be heading off. I thanked them for stopping. One of them told me they were standing… I was the one who stopped. That was the most clever thing I’d heard all morning.
If I had my charger on me, those prongs would have gone right into my skin. Damn. That was close.
At work, I was coddled. I know they care, but although painful, I can do my job. The kitchen doesn’t have a proper first aid kit, so one of my “bandages” was made out of a paper towel. It did the job just fine though. We don’t have any proper anti-septic either, so I used lemon juice. That hurts. A lot.
Vince cut me loose early. I don’t think he even noticed that my pants were half torn off or that I had a paper towel taped to my arm. I don’t really mind, but those Adornettos… Observation isn’t something that’s in their blood.