In the two month lapse during which I haven't written a single blog post, I managed to land myself in an orthopedic boot for some weirdo bone inflammation on my right foot. It's called sesamoiditis, which I've told several people sounds to me like I suffered a freak attack by a character off of Sesame Street.
I'm not the most graceful person when I have two good feet, but stick a boot on one of them and I become, well, much less graceful, if that's possible. Take today, for example. I work on the third floor of my office building. There is a card reader in the elevator for us to swipe our badge which allows us access to our floor, but there are no card readers in the stairwells so we can't access our floor from the stairs. You can, however, walk down the stairs to leave which is what I generally do since my cubicle is directly across from one of the stairwells
In my Friday-fueled excitement to leave the office today, I walked right out of that stairwell door and realized that I probably shouldn't attempt three flights of stairs in my space boot, as some of my friends have taken to calling it. But since the door was locked behind me and I couldn't get back in, I decided to have a go at it. Levels three and two went uneventfully.
Level one, not so much.
About five stairs from the bottom, I suddenly kicked the crap out of my good ankle with my boot and just about saw stars from the impact. While moaning and howling from that, I somehow managed to trip myself down the remaining stairs, landing in what I imagine was a horrifically ungraceful heap at the bottom (still on my feet, mind you...but barely). I looked up and saw that there was a man standing there who appeared to be one of the construction workers that is renovating one of the floors in our office building. He was staring at me wide-eyed with what can only be described as an expression of awe. He was able to maintain that stare for maybe seven seconds, after which he exhaled a huge snort out of his nose and let out an amazingly hearty belly laugh at my expense. I don't blame him for laughing because he made such an admirable effort to hold back, but it was somewhat mortifying nonetheless. When I composed myself well enough to walk towards the stairwell exit, he hurried to open the door for me, which might have been mistaken for chivalry but we all know he was just trying to keep me from injuring myself any further.
After I slunk out the door, I'm pretty sure he went to find a broom and dustpan to sweep up the broken pieces of dignity I left scattered haphazardly all over those stairs.
Happy Friday, everyone who reads this.