Monday, June 27, 2005

 

The hazards of moving

Last night the Treasure Valley welcomed Hilary Costa (h-bomb jr.) as she rolled in to Boise to start a life of domestic tranquility with JoeJa in what is widely acknowledged to be a good place to raise a family.

Being the stand-up guy that I am I came over and helped the two lovebirds unpack their U-Haul. Naturally, the unpacking involved several adult beverages and, after we emptied the truck, Joe and I went on an exploratory mission in his new neighborhood. We happened upon a cement canal that was probably five or six feet across and about six feet deep. Joe, of course, could virtually step across to the other side and encouraged me to jump it. At first, I showed remarkably good judgment and refused but my natural inclination toward bad ideas won out in the end and I made the leap.

Initially it went well. I cleared the canal by a good foot but I landed with my weight back, lost my balance and tumbled backwards, falling six feet down onto my back in about five inches of water. I actually fell out of my flip flops, which lay splayed on the far side of the canal exactly where I landed, a sad reminder of how close I had come to glory.

As you can imagine, cement is not the most forgiving surface and the canal was narrow enough that I scraped all the way down. After Joe helped me climb out I did inventory on my injuries and it looked like I had been attacked by a bear, which is exactly what I intend to tell people. Both ankles were bloody and scraped to shit, it looked like I had claw marks on my right arm, a snakebite on my left palm and I even had a mysterious lone scrape mark on my forehead about the size of a pea (I don't remember hitting my head).

The worst part, besides the burning pain, is that I'm going to have to explain what happened. So I'm taking story suggestions. Winner gets a cold Pabst.

Comments:
I'm guessing a dazed acid trip won't fly with your editors? How about this? In an effort to prove your salt as a wildfire reporter, you decided to set your own mini-fire and ran across your backyard with 45 pounds of gear and -- just to prove how serious you are -- you did it naked, too.

I'll take my Pabst icy cold, thank you.
 
I gotta say, I didn't even SEE this incident take place, yet I am about peeing myself laughing.
The mental picture painted in Druz's account of the fall is fantastically acute. Bravo Druz! Both on being such a numbnuts that you tried to heave your little ass over a drainage canal AND for being so humble as to post your adventure for us all to mock.
I trust that Joe got some post-triage photos...
 
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