The great Memorial Day Weekend incident of ‘08
I used to think that there were really only two things in this world that must be feared: ninjas and pirates. (I’m not even going to bring Chuck Norris into this discussion, seeing as he could take out a whole village of ninjas and a fleet of pirates simply by sneezing)
But that was before I was viciously attacked by one of nature’s deadliest, as-of-yet unknown, creatures……….the wheelbarrow.
Laugh if you will, but I have the scars to prove it. And a witness. An un-helping, non-observant, could-have-prevented-the-whole-thing witness.
Saturday at the gracious invite of the in-laws, I’m down at the coast having just enjoyed a nice dinner with family. Made sure that all of the significant others and children were in bed and down for the count. My brother-in-law (BIL) and I decide that we’d like to venture out, check out the local nightlife, chat up the friendly barmaids. Unfortunately for me, that’s a decision that led to pain and embarrassment.
Being on vacation, it goes without saying (although I am telling you now) that alcohol played a significant role in this little misadventure.
It was dark. The kind of dark you read about in vampire books. I had lost count by that time, but I was certainly into the double digits regarding the number beverages I had consumed. My BIL and I were in the garage formulating our game plan and finishing off the last of our beers before heading out into the night.
We didn’t want to raise the bay doors to the garage as that would have made too much noise for those sleeping in the room directly above it. We made the wise decision to exit from the side entrance. However, we failed to be wise regarding illumination, and as I mentioned before it was Sleepy Hollow dark outside.
Being down at the coast, I was less concerned about possible ninja activity as I was about the more probable pirate plundering that could have been taking place. This was an unfortunate mistake on my part as I should always be wary of ninjas. Or in this case, ninja-trained wheelbarrows.
BIL, being the daredevil that he is, exited the garage, taking point. I followed closely, the lit end of a cigarette the only illumination for this journey.
Did I mention that it was dark? So dark that the large form of BIL was obscured, a possible ninja wheelbarrow mind trick, but I can’t be certain. I thought I was right behind the man, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I found out later that with BIL’s extensive athletic training, he was able to side-step and dance around the imminent danger that lurked right outside the garage walls. I was not so lucky.
I felt a pain, that of carefully sharpened steel, pierce my lower left leg. Before I even knew what was happening I was in the grip of the dastardly wheelbarrow, flailing about, unable to even see my assailant. I felt the harsh grate of brick rip down my beer-holding hand, the feel of metal on skin that is almost undescribable. What, in reality only took a few seconds, felt like an eternity of struggle, with my painful defeat looming in the near future.
Bruised, battered, bleeding, and laying on unforgiving cold concrete, BIL finally came back into focus. And as he tried to hold back his laughter, the only thing he could think of was if this debacle would end our night of frivolity before it ever began. I assured him that it would take more than a crafty ninja wheelbarrow to put a stop to nonsense such as we were about to embark upon.
But the only thought that would enter into my discombobulated brain was, “shit, I spilled my beer”.