Last night I washed a load of whites. Not really a big deal, but since my whites were cleaned yesterday, today I was allowed to put on my white thermal top to wear to Starbucks. It didn’t look like it was too cold out so all I would need was the white thermal top, paired with my light gray jeans, and of course white shoes to tie it all together. Gathering my laptop, audition folder, and side bag I left the house with a certain enthusiasm; a spring in my step if you will. Well that spring, sprung right out seconds later when I found myself flat on my ass in the middle of the sidewalk.
You see Chazo (pronounced Chah-zo), one of Mickey’s henchmen, is in charge of keeping my building up to standards. Up to standards includes mopping all the hallways, stairways, sidewalk, and stoop. Now when I opened the door of my apartment, the strong smell of bleach alerted me to Chazo’s presence. Knowing Chazo had recently been through with the mop meant caution was in order. I even grabbed the rail as I descended down the flight of stairs to get to the first floor. Safe on the first floor, I continued to spring through the bleach soaked hallway towards the doors that lead outside. I made it through both doors almost arrogantly with a confidence that exudes… “I know how to walk.” But it was the stoop that got me.
I decided to conquer the recently sprayed and mopped stoop with no help from the rail at all; rails are for old people. My god it’s only a stoop. Just four little steps that have decades of paint on them. Decades of regular (I would say high gloss) paint, no “non-skid” paint here, just good ole high gloss paint that has created a wonderfully smooth surface---for a stoop.
My right foot led the way. I went from threshold to sidewalk in record time. Luckily time slows for the individual who is going through embarrassment. In this nanosecond I felt my right foot touch the top stair then ever so gracefully rise into the air to reach my left foot (which was already in the air because it had confidence in the right foots ability to stay on the ground). I remember thinking, “Shit, this isn’t good.” Next, my ass decided to land on the top stair. I believe its thought process was… hell if the feet aren’t gonna be grounded, I guess I should. So good at being grounded was my ass that it decided to be the one part of my body that hit every single stair on the way down. My arms flailed, my legs kicked, but my rump held steady.
Now laid out on the sidewalk, in a puddle of water, that contained all the dirt from the now clean stoop-- I had time to evaluate. Not paralyzed, nothing broken (except my pride), I started to look around to see who witnessed this spectacle. Immediately a car drove by and the driver saw the look of horror on my face. Then I made eye contact with an old lady about 20 feet away. The look on her face was slightly confusing. On one hand, I felt she was looking at me and thinking, “dumb-ass…should have used the rail.” But then her look also could have meant, “Been there… hope his hip is alright.” I guess I should just be happy she didn’t offer me her cane.
I got up and realized my very white outfit was now very dirty. I could have gone up stairs and changed but I wasn’t about to risk going up the stoop. I wore my dirty white outfit for the rest of the day and took pride in my tumble down the stoop.
Dumb ass…use the rail.
