I know that we’re here to celebrate exemplary little moments of the day-to-day, and the title of this post may not seem very inspiring but I assure you this was the greatest moment of my week by a long shot.
This past week has been one of those black holes of bullshit kind. You know the one, you’ve had them before. The week where every “Worst Case Scenario” comes true. The one that ruthlessly rapes your will to live again and again. The kind of week that makes you want to fling yourself from your balcony, even though you only live on the second floor and at best would sustain a minor head injury or ankle sprain. Yes, it was one of those weeks…
I started feeling like a zombie by the end of it. Not just feel like a zombie, but I think I went through the stages too. I got infected by the virus, but denied it and thought I’d bravely carry on. Then I succumbed to the maddening fever, and eventually faded away into the bloody grey un-dead oblivion of emotionlessness. The numbness had officially set in by the end of the week.
All that kept me hanging on was the thought of Friday night. Sweet, sweet Friday night. Friday night will go one of two ways for me now: extreme couch-potatoing or getting back to my roots by seeing how much beer I can chug before I barf in someone’s mailbox. This week I was really looking forward to the couch-potato option. I just wanted to put on my eight dollar Wal-Mart sweats, consume a metric ton of Doritos (Zesty Cheese, Score!), and only move from the couch when 100% necessary.
Friday afternoon on my way home is when the incident occurred. I got out of work, plugged in to my iPod hoping some sweet jams would make me feel human again, and hopped on the bus. A short while later I was feeling alright. I survived this hellish week and my tunes were kicking in. I strolled up to my building, walked through the door, and headed for the mailbox. I grabbed my mail, which by the way counts as mail even if it’s only coupons for burger king, and turned down the hallway to the stairs.
I should mention that the main floor of my building is rife with children. Unsupervised little assholes that run around screaming at the top of their lungs all hours of the day. Friday was a rare exception. There was nary a rascal in sight. They usually leave their shit all over the halls too. Case in point, the bike.
A fucking pink, purple, and green two-wheeler with training wheels was left right in front of the corner I turn down to get to the stairs. And here I was just enjoying some choice tunes while fantasizing about the plans I had for my newly acquired burger king coupons. Needless to say, I was in my own little world. I know I should have expected it because these asshole kids are always leaving their bikes around the building, but truth be told my keen ninja senses weren’t what they usually are.
As I turned the corner to the hallway I stepped on one of the training wheels which smashed the bike into my shin. I tried shifting my weight to gain my balance but I ended up toppling head first over the bike. I did make one last ditch effort to grab the walls for support, but they were out of reach and I wound up frantically clawing at the air. As I did so, the coupons went flying and I did a truly spectacular crumple into the ground. The bike was caught on my pants and on my way down the seat jabbed into my ribs knocking my breath from me.
I lay there gasping for air like a fish out of water for a moment or two. I raised my head off the ground and scanned the hallway to see if anyone was around. Thankfully I was alone. I was raving mad about the bike, and I could feel an angry snarl building in my throat. When I finally regained my breath I promptly erupted in laughter. My nasty snarl gave way to whooping waves of laughter at the thought of how retarded I must look. I didn’t have the energy to get up just yet, all I could do was lay there and laugh like a maniac.
I barely managed to get to my feet and gather my composure before the rotund woman living in the apartment across the hall came out shrieking “Watchoo doin’ out der girl? I gotta sleepin’ baby in here!” Although she was apparently deaf to the perpetual war-cries emanating from her 4 beastly children on the daily, she felt that I was making a real ruckus out in the hallway.
I smothered another hearty snicker in my coat-sleeve, grabbed my coupons, and bolted for the stairs.
I had forgotten what laughter felt like. My week was so grim, that I forgot about laughing, which is usually one of my favourite things. I just barely clung to my sanity this week. My main goal was to get home and cry into some empty calories. But damned if that bike wasn’t a wonderful blessing in disguise. I just let it all go.
I let the bad vibes wash away and laughed with abandon at what a magnificent sight my tumble would have been for an onlooker. It revitalized me, and brought me back to reality. I had been so wrapped up in my own troubles, I literally did not account for the world still thriving around me. I felt like myself again.
My ribs hurt like hell the next day, but I suspect that had more to do with the laughing than the bike.