I should really just start wearing a helmet. And kneepads. Because, honestly, I’m getting tired of bleeding. About two weeks ago, I was walking back into work after my lunch, and was checking out a hot cop, also entering the building (I like a man in uniform – so sue me). Anyway, the front steps of the building I work in are constructed so that they’re each only a couple of inches high, but about six feet deep. So, when “climbing” the stairs to get into the building, you’re actually doing more of a “stair, walk, walk, walk, stair, walk, walk, walk” kind of thing. Very awkward, to say the least. Very hazardous, in fact, when we consider the 30-year stair conspiracy (they’re all in league to kill or at the very least, maim me. No joke! Almost every really damaging or painful accident I’ve ever had has been on the stairs. Conspiracy, I say!).
The conspiracy was in full force that day, because not only did I manage to fall, spilling everything I had with me all over the stairs AND scrape my knee and wind up bleeding (but didn’t rip my pants! Bonus points to me for thwarting the stairs’ nefarious plans!), I managed to do all of this in front of the hot cop I’d just been ogling. Excellent. Smooth move, Ex-Lax, as the kids are saying. It turns out that, as I was “climbing” the stairs, I neglected to pull my rear foot up the required two inches to clear the stair, and ended up sprawled on my hands and knees in front of Police Headquarters. Oooh, dignified. Even more so, because my hair was out and had been thrown forward when I fell, thereby making a convincing imitation of Cousin It. Honestly, what’s NOT for the hot cop to be attracted to? A bleeding, swearing, hairy Cousin It-looking fat chick, on her hands and knees, with various dollar-store purchases in front of her, on the steps to HQ. It’s a mystery why I’m still single, isn’t it? GOD.
Anyway, realizing that I’d just made an ass out of myself, I jumped up and gave a general wave (á la gymnastics – wave to the judges!) and announced, “Nothing!” Somehow, I don’t think they bought it. One woman, at the top of the stairs shouted down to me to ask me if I was okay, and I responded to her with another wave and a, “Yup, fine, thanks!” Then the hot cop (who was about 3 feet away when this happened – he’s lucky I didn’t take him out at the same time!) stopped to as me if I was okay, as well. I’m pretty sure that the intense humiliation that I felt in those 10 seconds did untold damage to my soul, not to mention my psyche. Anyway, I told him that I was fine, just embarrassed, thanked him for his concern, and began carefully walking up the remaining steps. Of course, I told the women I work with, when I got back to my office, and I’m pretty sure one of them laughed so hard that she’s now developed some sort of palsy or tick that happens when I go near her. It got a LOT worse when she saw my knees this morning.
So, it’s NOT a Monday, but it seems that the Monday bad luck can bleed into the rest of the week and fuck it up GOOD. This morning, I woke up at 5.00am (isn’t that SICK?!), had my shower, got dressed, made breakfast, climbed into my car and fought traffic and sleepiness for an hour. As I was trudging from my car to the subway entrance (yes, I said “trudge”. I trudge. I am officially a commuting zombie and that’s how we walk. GOD, I need a place downtown – if only to SLEEP past 5am!), apparently the sidewalk took a great dislike to me, and decided to assault me. Honest! I didn’t trip, because there was nothing to trip on! I was watching where I was going, and there was just a whole lot of sidewalk – no debris, no dents, nothing. Yet somehow, the sidewalk is in league with the stairs, and it tripped me, then refused to catch me. Yup, I tripped, fell, and slid. On paved sidewalk. In a skirt. Ah, the smell of roadrash in the morning! Of course, people asked me if I was okay and all, and even a super-goodlooking guy stopped to ask me if I needed help. I told him, “No, thanks, I’m fine. Just embarrassed.” He was so nice – he slowed down to walk with me while I limped and told me not to be embarrassed. Awww. Too bad about that frickin’ ring on his left hand! Anyway, both my knees are skinned, as well as my palms and, inexplicably, the back of my wrist. Go figure.
