Tuesday, January 12, 2010

the little voice inside my head

Thought I would share this story, it seems to amuse people. And explains why I disappear sometimes. I have a little voice in my head that I listen to. It usually keeps me out of trouble. That is why, when out consuming my favorite legal beverages, I sometimes vanish. My friends know this, and think nothing of it. The little voice says "go home dumb-ass, before something stupid happens".
One particular evening, while consuming Labatt Blue and Rumpleminz with friends at the greatest pub on earth, The Pub, the little voice told me to go home. So off I go, walking (staggering?) up State Street, to my little house, also known as the Una-bomber Shack. The Una-bomber Shack was a one room house I lived in for several years, pretty much parked in the backyard of another house, next to a good size parking lot. I made it all the way home, had my key in the door, and my little voice said, "whoa dude, let's no go home quite yet, look behind you". I turn around, and there in the parking lot, sat a large industrial dumpster. Sometimes I need to ignore that little voice. That night I didn't. I HAD to see what they were throwing away. It appeared they were gutting the house in front of me. So, I climb in the dumpster. Rather easy to get in, there are lots of hand and foot holds on the outside. I walked around for a while (it was really big), looked at the desks and beds and stuff, and decided this was a stupid idea. Now, the inside of the dumpster had no hand or foot holds, just a smooth metal wall, about 6 feet tall, which is the same height of a drunken Rodney. The synapses in my brain, not being able to hold hands due to the aforementioned libations, did not tell me to stack up the furniture to get out. Instead, I remembered that in years past, I had been a fairly good rock climber, and I could mantle my way out. So I pulled myself up, and sat straddling the top of the dumpster. I thought, ok, now all I have to do is swing my leg over, drop on the ground, roll, and I am out of the dumpster. Note: no thought of climbing down like I climbed in. So, I swing my leg over, and physics happened. Physics being, when a force is enacted on a lever in one direction, an equal and opposite reaction will happen to the other end of the lever. My leg was one end of the lever, my upper body the other. I fell on my head and arm INSIDE the dumpster. There was no obvious damage to my head, other than what I had done to it at The Pub, but my arm at my wrist had swollen up to the size of my fist. I laid there thinking, "great. I broke my arm, and I am still in the dumpster". I honestly do not remember how I got out of the dumpster, but I must have mantled up again with a broken arm, because when we checked the next day, I HAD NOT stacked up the furniture. I remember laying on the ground, thinking, "wow, I forgot to roll". I went inside the Una-bomber Shack, and called my friend Katie, who was coming to visit me the next morning. She yelled at me repeatedly to go to the hospital, that my arm was broke. By this time the alcohol had kicked back in, and I was feeling no pain. I did my best to convince her that is wasn't broken, just sprained. I didn't really sleep that night, as the pain grew as the alcohol left my system. At 10:00 the next morning, Katie walked into my place, and I immediately said to her, "don't take your coat off, we're going to the hospital", to which she replied "I TOLD YOU IT WAS BROKEN!!" The consensus at the hospital: both ulna and radius had split about an inch up the length of the bones. I hate dumpsters.

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