Friday, August 11, 2006

Due for a weekend

So far . . . it has been a long, long morning.

It all began when I was walking though the courthouse while trying to disguise my limp.

The reason for the limp: on Wednesday, I took an unpleasant spill down the stairs at my office. My left ankle got banged up and is a bit tender and swollen. I will say this with great pride, though, I did not cry (even if I may have wanted to a little bit). That's right, this kid is a toughie.

Oddly enough, my ankle feels much more comfortable pointed than flexed, so high heels continue to be the most appropriate footwear -- which is good, because I have a fantastic new pair of shoes -- strappy numbers with an itty bitty skinny heals. Love 'em!

Fortunately, I managed to keep my hobbling to a minimum as I jogged though the courthouse.(YAY!) Then, as I was hustling down the courthouse's marble staircase, my dainty little shoe caught on the step. (BOO!)

Falling down the stairs Wednesday sucked. Falling down the stairs this morning S-U-C-K-E-D! I would rate the overall painfulness of both falls somewhat equally. However, in the embarrassment category, today's fall blows Wednesday's clear out of the water. Here's how it went down:

  • I was talking with a client while going down the stairs.
  • My heel caught, and I went down like a sac o' potatoes.
  • I slid down four or five steps while the file I was holding went flying into the air -- papers scattering in every direction.
  • Two very nice gentlemen ran to collect my papers.
  • The commotion apparently attracted the attention of the security guards who darted up the stairs with hands on their firearms to see what the hell was going on.
  • Eventually, I brushed myself off, told everyone that I was OK, and tried to scrape together some degree of decorum as I passed the people on the ground floor who were trying to disguise their giggles. (bastards)

After I got back to my car, I took inventory of any potential injuries. Sure enough, my left ankle had begun swelling to match my right ankle. This was the first time I noticed that my elbow, calf and finger were bleeding. I sighed and started to pull out of my parking space.

That's then the parking attendant flagged me down. Perfect! Why not add parking-ticket-insult to injury?

Fortunately, Parking Attendant Dennis did not want to issue me a ticket (YAY!). Parking Attendant Dennis just felt like chatting (BOO!).

Here's an overview of the topic that Dennis and I discussed: (Well, he discussed, I uncomfortably smiled and nodded)

  • The weather;
  • Dennis' childhood home in Boston;
  • His father's military service record ;
  • Dennis's Naval experience;
  • Somebody's cremation and tastefully tall urn;
  • Submarines and Rolls Royce limousines;
  • Dennis' trip to the North Pole and his coming to terms with the realization that Santa Clause was nowhere to be found (I really, really wish I was kidding).

After a good FOURTEEN MINUTES, Dennis decided that his ramblings had reached a satisfactory conclusion, and allowed me to leave the parking lot.

While I may not always learn from my mistakes (like how not to go down stairs), there are some lessons that do stick with me. For instance, I did not offer to buy Parking Attendant Dennis a giant sandwich.

Thank you for listening to my Dennisesque rambling tale of woe. I feel better now

(Dear God, I am due for a weekend)


gazza said...

You need help. Ever read The Meaning of Liff? It contains some useful advice in some of its definitions:

CLABBY (adj.)
A 'clabby' conversation is one struck up by a commissionaire or cleaning lady in order to avoid any futher actual work. The opening gambit is usually designed to provoke the maximum confusion, and therefore the longest possible clabby conversation. It is vitally important to learn the correct, or 'clixby' (q.v.), response to a clabby gambit, and not to get trapped by a 'ditherington' (q.v.). For instance, if confronted with a clabby gambit such as 'Oh, Mr Smith, I didn't know you'd had your leg off', the ditherington response is 'I haven't...' whereas the clixby is 'good.'

CLIXBY (adj.)
Politely rude. Briskly vague. Firmly uninformative.

Sudden access of panic experienced by one who realises that he is being
drawn inexorably into a clabby (q.v.) conversation, i.e. one he has no hope of enjoying, benefiting from or understanding.

Reluctant Kerry said...

Hmmm . . .

have you a technical term for a individual who draws crazy people? I could add that term to my résumé.