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So, I’m fairly accident prone (understatement). I’ve sprained both my ankles numerous times,
and I’m fairly certain I’m missing ligaments in both of them. While I couldn’t really walk in heels before,
now I can’t even really stand in them.
One day, several years ago, I had one of my most epic
falls. It was pouring rain, and I was at
work going to pick up a car from carpool.
Given the heavy rain, and my propensity to melt when I get wet (I am
made of sugar…..), I ran from the car into the building. Unfortunately, the area in front of the door
is painted concrete. For those of yall who
are unaware, painted concrete is very very slippery when wet. So there I am, attempting to dart into the
building. I hit that painted concrete in
my flip flops and BAM! down I go. I
quickly got up, as an audience witnessed my horribly embarrassing moment, and I
wanted to show them that I was totally fine.
As I got into the building, the wet started to quickly set
in. While I had simply fallen on a flat
surface, my jeans were soaked to the pointed where I was fairly sure I’d fallen
into a hidden lake that no one could actually see. All down my left leg, and the left side of my
ass were completely saturated, at a level where I began to waddle. I popped into the bathroom hoping the “green”
focus of my employer would mean there was a hand dryer instead of paper towels,
figuring I could just sort of stick my ass up under the dryer for a bit. No such luck.
I waddled downstairs to pick up a car. The carpool guy could tell something was
wrong, so I told him I fell and my pants were soaked. He politely listened to my story and
suggested I go home to change. Not
happening, as I live 25 miles from work, and traffic getting back would take me
at least an hour and a half. As I walked
away with a key to an environmentally friendly prius, the carpool guy was able
to see the full extent of my situation.
I heard hysterical laughter (the first, but not the only time related to
this incident), and turned to see him doubled over as he gestured towards my
extremely wet pants. Glad I could make
his day better.
I waddled downstairs into the bowels of the garage to the
car. Thinking of nothing but my strong
desire to have dry jeans, an idea popped into my head. I struck out with the hand dryer in the
bathroom, but there is a heater and vents in the car. DING!
Brilliant!
The cars are located in what can only be described as a
terrifying garage, full of tight spaces and not enough room for two cars to
pass each other. This car was tucked
away in its own parking spot with some not quite waist high walls around
it. I unlocked the car, took a quick look
around, and peeled my wet jeans off. In
the car, I turned on the heater and fan on full blast, and spread my jeans out
over the dash in a desperate attempt to dry them.
…….
…………….
What felt like EONS had gone by while I sat sans pants in
the car. They’ve GOT to be better,
right?! They have to be. This was a brilliant idea. Right?
I took another look around, and snuck out of the car, as I couldnt
shimmy into my jeans while sitting in the tight confines of the driver’s seat
of a prius. I was quickly met with the horrible, cold, sopping wet, clammy feeling of jeans that had in no way
dried. Not so much the brilliant idea.
Now I’m more uncomfortable than I was to begin with… a
feeling that only increased as I sat back down in the car. I drove back to the office, and painstakingly
got out of the car to run through the parking lot into the building, as it was
still pouring rain. I’m now covered in
old, clammy wet AND fresh, just fell from the sky wet.
I walked into the building looking like a drowned rat – wet
hair, wet shirt, SOAKED left side of my jeans, only to be met with the
hysterical laughter of my coworkers. I
then told the above story, which they couldn’t get enough of.
To make matters worse?
About 20 minutes after I got back to the office, a well-meaning coworker
excitedly told me we had a dryer, so she could fix my pants. GREAT!
Only, I don’t have any other pants to wear while mine dry. So…. Yeah.
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