|I suffer so you can learn...or at least laugh
||[Nov. 5th, 2007|01:27 pm]
So, I walk into the mini-mart to pick up some Dew for work since the container that I thought was full of them was actually only getting hooked on something else and thus only FELT heavy with DietDewFruit. And I'm coughing as I go in (into the crook of my arm because I'm thoughtful AND a germ geek) but manage to settle down as I go up to the register...but she took too long to give me change and I couldn't stifle the next fit. "Oooh, that sounds bad, whatever you've got" she says. And instead of just nodding and leaving, I decide to reveal today's Lesson Learned: Breathe Air, Swallow Spit. Which left her testing her ability to do the same...|
Which got me thinking of other incredibly incompetent things I've done lately.
This weekend, at the end of pub adventure, offering a ride to a friend, which meant folding the seats back up so that a human could occupy the greyhound area of the car, which was complicated (of course) because I had run out of time and we'd left home still packing several ghosts and dummies in the back, and then got back to the hotel where I realized that my purse was still sitting on the ground in the pub parking lot where I'd put it down to fix the seats. (I know -- why the hell did I put it on the ground and not in the front seat? Damn IPA.)
But hey, someone was looking out for me. Or at least, not looking out for my purse, since we drove back and there it was, sittin' all perky like right next to my ex-parking space.
But that's not that funny, is it? Sad, actually. I'm glad as hell that it was still there, but I've now officially used up all my good luck for the year and there's still two months left.
Okay. So, standing underneath one of the spiders I hung in our spiderweb scenario, holding onto it with one hand so it doesn't fall, and I reach down and snip the line holding anchoring it to its groundstake.
Except of course, I'm holding the wrong spider. Bam. Who knew that paper mache spiders were so damn heavy? Lesson #2: Tug on the line to make sure you're cutting down the right thing.
And that head injury may well explain the next incident. After years of happily coiling extension cords the slow way -- coiling it into a circle and then wrapping the center -- I decide, jealous of having watched the Captain's super-efficient wrapping it around his arm, palm to elbow and then slipping the cord off to centerwrap -- hey, why don't I stop being so lame and do it the easy way? After all, this is not small potatoes on Scary Perry -- I use more than twenty 50-100 feet cords in my yard alone.
Oh, if only I could have sold tickets, though, when I realized that I had wrapped the cord between my palm and elbow so tightly that I now could not slip it off. As a matter of fact, I couldn't get out of it at all. And sure, I could have thought calmly about it and managed it -- but it was like that old chestnut of advice: when the 15 foot anaconda has wrapped itself around your neck, just grab the tail and unwind it. Easy to say when you don't have the King Kong of snakes wrapped around your neck.
Oh, I know, it was an ELECTRICAL CORD, ya giant wuss, not a big ol' snake. But see, in trying to get out, I started a back spasm, so now I'm being stuck in the back by a giant metaphorical pitchfork, which is made worse every time I try to twist my arm out of the freaking coil and the end of it that I COULD unwind is now dangling out of reach and when I try to reach for it, my back says OH HELL NO! And of course, the German in me is determined that all of my hard work will not be wasted, that surely there is a way to get it off of me without unraveling it all and having to start all over again.
So, there I am, one arm wrapped tight in a big coil of orange extension cord, spinning around the side yard like some kind of deranged human top, howling "ow, ow, ow" and many other expletives that I won't repeat for fear of blistering the letters off of my keyboard.
Sure, eventually (ten seconds, maybe) the bastard slithered off my arm and I resumed my slowpoke manual coiling. And no one saw it. It had to have been funny as hell.
But anyway, lesson #3: Sometimes the slow way is better. But if you want to try it the other way, get a spotter. Or at least an audience.