Tuesday was a blustery day, so much so that I was nearly knocked off my feet by a giant shoe.
An oversized Dutch clog, part of Albany’s Sculpture in the Street project, was swept up by the wind and tumbled across the sidewalk, coming just inches from taking out my legs. Imagine that conversation in the emergency room.
“So you were knocked down by a shoe?”
“A clog. A giant clog.”
“A giant clog?”
“Yes, a Dutch clog. A big one. Large enough to take a bath in.”
And this is when the doctor would discreetly ask for me to be moved to the mental health unit.
There is no shortage of interesting conversation in the emergency room.
When I lived in Albany we had no garage or storage shed, so the lawnmower needed to be carried up and down the rickety old basement steps to the yard. One day I slipped on the steps; I fell on my ass and the lawnmower fell on my knee.
In the ER, where I recieved five stitches, the doctor questioned me about the lawnmower incident.
“You were carrying the lawnmower down the stairs?”
“Was it running?”
OK, I’m not smart enough to be a doctor, but I am smart enough to know if someone’s carrying a lawnmower it is probably not running. But he was just doing his job. They keep track of all this stuff and my ridiculous mishap ended up in that year’s lawnmower accident statistics.