RED-FACED
Task 51, March 20 to March 27
“You should know: I’m embarrassed for you.” Unknown.
I have a bad ankle. While I eagerly await the next surgery I am supposed to wear a boot (a big, grey, ugly thing that weighs about ten pounds, is beyond awkward to wear, and says to anyone who sees it “what the hell does that old man have on his foot?”) And even though I have the boot I’m not supposed to be walking around on it, so my wife bought me a little black scooter, appropriately called the “Knee Rover” to help keep the weight off my foot and afford me some mobility.
It’s fun to zip around on the Knee Rover but this morning, in a parking garage, I hit a rut or a pebble or a small animal–I don’t know–but it resulted in a horrifying tumble. I went head over handlebars and thudded to the pavement. Injuries, not much: a skinned elbow and sore ass, but the embarrassment factor–through the roof. Horrified bystanders ran over, most of them gasping, and I could feel the pity in their stares.
I pulled myself to my feet, told everyone I was okay, picked up the scooter and breezed out of the lot with as much dignity as I could muster, but I could feel their eyes on me, and I could hear a chuckle or two, and I swear one guys said, “I’m going to post this on TikTok…”
A few minutes later, when I was safely ensconced in an overstuffed chair in the waiting area of the dentist’s office, I relived the tumble and the subsequent humiliation, and I said to myself, ruefully: this has been happening my whole life! I am the guy who stumbles, bumbles and pratfalls–and it always happens in public!
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Here are some examples:
–This happened earlier this year. Doctor’s office. It’s crowded with people waiting for their appointment to start, and they’re bored, so they’re looking at their phones or just staring into space. Suddenly there is a crackle from a microphone–someone’s name is going to be called–and it’s mine! I stand up and I FART. Loudly. I bolt for the door to the examination rooms without looking back.
–I’m at the DMV, in Los Angeles. If you wonder what hell on earth looks like, it looks like the waiting room of a DMV in Los Angeles. I’m at the end of a LONG line. I’m angry, I mumble, only slightly under my breath, “this place sucks–I’m outa here” and angrily turn to leave and run smack into a glass door–that’s locked.
–I’m at a nice Italian restaurant. I walk into the restroom. No urinal so I went into a stall. I pee, then come out and wait patiently while the WOMAN in front of me washes her hands.
–One of my coworkers writes an e-mail in which he offers up (what I consider to be) a lame solution to a simple problem. I forward it to one of my friends and I say, “what a dumbass”, only I didn’t forward it, I hit ‘reply all’.
–I ran into a guy I knew at a crowded restaurant. This guy, I’ll call him Juan, is younger than me, handsome, and thoroughly cool. I go in for a hug, but he just sticks out his hand for a hand shake and I’m grasping at air…painful.
–This is a small one, but worth mentioning. Recently at a restaurant, the server says: “Enjoy your meal.” I said: “You too.” He looked at me weirdly and walked away. Why did I say that?
–And the granddaddy of them all. Some of you, who know me, have heard this before. When I was a pre-teen I was an altar boy. I was chosen to serve at a triple funeral. You heard that right: a TRIPLE funeral. 3 caskets were lined up in the center aisle of the church. Oh, and by the way, the three people who passed were part of the family of one of my classmates, a kid I’d known since we were in kindergarten. My job that day was simple. I was one of three altarboys who were stationed behind the last casket. Two of us were holding these giant candles, the kid between us was holding a cross on a staff. The parish priest (accompanied by two more altar boys walking behind him) was going to walk past the three caskets, sprinkle holy water on each one, then bow to the cross the guy next to me was holding, then turn and walk back.
And that’s what happened. The church is packed, and dead quiet. The priest walks past the caskets, sprinkles the holy water, bows to the cross, then turns away. But the two altar boys walking behind him? One of them, Mark G., contorts his face and rapidly shakes his head up and down as though he’s having a seizure. The guy with the cross starts to laugh, then the other guy holding a candle starts to laugh too. And then I start to laugh. And we can’t stop. We are laughing our asses off in a silent church. Loudly! You could send that the attendees, ESPECIALLY the family of the deceased, where NOT amused by us. The Priest looks back at us and shoots us a glare that said, “you are fucking dead as soon as this is over…”
Anyway, I hope no one that reads this has the kind of luck that I have, but if you do, remember to take the following steps 1. Laugh it off. 2. Don’t apologize, and 3. If confronted about it later, deny it.