A Gonzo

When I hurt myself people like to hear about it. I have never been one for collecting the acceptance of others, but until I overcome my self inflicting accident proneness problem I might just have to put up with it. Let's not kid ourselves either, if I didn't enjoy telling a double whopper with sound effects and the like would I be sitting here in my undergarments at 2am scribbling away, and hating every paragraph until I write the next?

So people like people when they hurt themselves. And people know about this. So other people tell people about it. So that somebody else might feel comfortable enough talking about a time they hurt themselves. Unless they lack the skills necessary of captivating their audience with the best material money can't buy. Then even if they did hurt themselves in the story, you can't enjoy it because you've fallen asleep.

I know one girl who loves it when you fall. And because of this she is almost certain to become a tripper. That's why I always walk down the stairs behind her, not because she has a great caboose, that's just the icing. She loves it when you fall because she's just like everyone else. The pleasure in someone Else's pain must be the sixth sense of the human being.

And if you cannot see someone fall down or take an arrow of fire to their crotch. Then hearing about it, is the next best thing. But if the person who lit the arrow on fire and then shot it at their own crotch, lives to tell you about it it is like a little slice of Heaven. Or some secular equivalent. Like pie. A little slice of Cherry pie. With a small side of vanilla ice-cream.

So here's the latest incarnation to fuel the sixth sense of my fellow man. Sometimes I wonder if I do these things to myself knowingly. But if it were planned I doubt I would walk away as unbroken as I always do. Luck plays an important part in living to tell the tale. He's perhaps the most important attribute of every accidental circumstance.

I'm driving a lift today, and everything is going smooth. My operation was running like a hard knife cutting through a soft cube of butter. I have taken this vessel many times on a very similar journey like today's.

I maneuver through elevators, crowded hallways and tight loading docks. Full of passerby fuck nuts who think because they're in your way already they might as well stay there. And who could blame them? They walk as if moving a singular muscle at a time, never quite grasping that the hip bone is connected to the foot bone. Their pace makes all of us older, and then quite younger again as they slither on by.

It is at this time when I ask two of my fellow men, to help me watch the wheels as I have to make a 19 point turn down a skinny concrete walkway. Whomever designed the loading dock at the Sheraton Hotel in Sacramento should be shot in the nuts with a device of electrocution. Or buried alive in the ocean with concrete stockings holding giant bags of shark bait.

As I'm making part 18 of the 19 point turn to back down the ramp, I turn to my right to check my back wheels. When all of a sudden I'm hit with what feels like a Louisville slugger on the right side of my cranium. The gentleman who are supposed to be looking out for my safety during the time, both see this happen, and at the top of their lungs "OH!?!?" "Watch out!."

Let me recreate that turn of events for you. In case you weren't paying attention. The corner of a giant wooden awning doing exactly what it is supposed to do, staying inanimate and where it was put in the year 2003 gets attacked with the full force of my cranium smashing into the corner of it, and then......my "spotters" tell me to watch out. That is some excellent spotting.

So I'm probably the only person who has ever slammed his head into such a structure and not immediately passed out. I had to put off passing out until I was done driving the lift. I didn't cry or flinch or swear. It didn't even effect me.

However my spotter extraordinaire told me that I had a second head growing out of my first one. And because I didn't want to have to start buying shirts with two holes for my heads I put some ice on it. And that's when the pain really started. Whomever invented ice should be forced to do body shots off of Roseanne Barr's hairy stomach.

I felt like I needed to vomit. That's how hard I hit my head. I didn't hear the loud noise that the impact made, because I was in some sort of acoustic shadow. I only got to hear about how loud of a noise that the others heard. I was too busy making it. Silly me.

And everyone was laughing it up and it was great. Aside from that giant knot on my head. And that lingering thought in the back of my other one; the part that had not succumbed to a concussion that I could have been very less lucky. For if I was to take that same blow to the head one inch lower and one inch to the left give or take, that I would be blogging from the hospital right now. Just thinking about that is making my right temple hurt at this very moment.

In the great battle of cranium versus awning we learned that no matter how hard you may try, you will never be able to break a giant piece of wood with your head. Especially at the corner where it is attached to another giant piece of wood. That's perhaps the strongest part of the structure. I would recommend for anyone trying this in the future to attack it from the side. You might just have a break through.