This blog entry has nothing to do with Shel Silverstein… but is about how I hurt myself just passed a sidewalk.
Fun Fact: Sometimes crazy things happen to me/I happen to them.
Throughout the years, I have found myself in some quirky or even less than ideal situations. These scenarios range from the romantic to the painful and equate to a decent non-existent screenplay for a Rom-Com. I’ll save funny romance stories for another day, but here are two examples of my personal slapstick comedy:
1. I once got half of a toothpick stuck in the heel of my foot for 45 minutes.
2. I accidentally staple-gunned two of my fingers together in art college.
Getting hurt isn’t actually as funny as it looks on film, it only becomes funny to the victim after one month. This is my allotted time period of grieving, approximately one month (give or take) after the incident you will have told the story enough times that it’s almost like you’re recapping a bad sitcom. Time actually does heal the embarrassment and when you start looking at it as if it happened to someone else – it can be hilarious.
So, what happened to me today, Monday January 2nd, 2017? I fell into a small pit of despair – a metal box of doom (this would be a decent band name by the way).
I took Summit for a walk along our usual route, this includes some playtime at a nearby park before we head home. We had stopped at the park and were wandering the soccer field when I suddenly had an idea.
In my very cookie-cutter suburban neighbourhood there is a small farm that didn’t accept the buyout for the land when the houses were being built. Chris and I often take the street that the farm sits on and I like to admire the animals. They mainly have sheep, but they also have some cows, horses, and (most importantly [one of my favourite animals]) a donkey. I thought it might be fun for Summit to see the animals so we crossed the street toward the fence.
The sidewalk ends in an odd place. Instead of ending the sidewalk at the corner of the street, it continues for another 15ft or so alongside one of the houses. The farmland is very clearly fenced off starting behind the aforementioned house’s backyard, approximately 15ft passed the end of the sidewalk. Summit and I casually walked through the snow toward the farm fence, but we realized very quickly that none of the animals were out. We turned to head home, but before we got back to the sidewalk I fell.
You know that feeling you get when your body recognizes that it’s about to fall up/or down the stairs? Multiply that by at least 10 to understand the surreal moment that I experienced. The snow beneath my left foot disappeared and I started to fall straight down. My right leg stayed above ground and I quickly pulled myself up, but not before banging my left leg up a bit and twisting my right knee.
My first thought was, “the ice is breaking!”
My second thought was, “this cannot be a pond.”
I had taken a wrong step on a metal lid that was covered in snow. This underground box was level with the ground and had been covered by about 4 inches of white camouflage. I suppose my weight was on one side of the lid
and it tilted open to let me fall through. The box was probably only about 3ft or 4ft deep and seemed to contain some electrical wires. The box itself wasn’t all that scary, but slipping into it was.
In shock, I took some photos and planned on calling the city to shut it properly when I got home. I walked the 15-minute route home in more like 25 minutes. The city people said that they would look into closing it properly so that kids don’t get hurt. I am officially resting after a hot shower and am alternating ice pack positions. The pain isn’t so bad and I’ll likely only have minor bruising with some strained muscles, but what a crazy afternoon!
For now, I will add this to my list of weird adventures that if filmed would have been hilarious (if anyone caught it on tape, please contact me and we will try to win money on Americas Funniest Home videos). Everyone else, you should take this story as a life lesson to explore less – suburbia is downright dangerous.
PS. Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein is my favourite book of poetry! I definitely recommend borrowing it from the library if you are unfamiliar with Silverstein’s fanciful writing style and humorous illustrations.