Beautiful Day
Evidently, I am not a friend of the outdoors. I’d like to think that I have that bone in my body. I mean, I went camping and all. Several times. Even went cross country. Of course there was that small incident when I couldn’t find the bear lockers in Yosemite last October. It was getting dark and I was having a fit. But that’s not really an indication of anything. Is it? I mean, I am a writer and like to think of myself as a Renaissance man. Capable and educated in all areas. Well rounded, if you will. But, as I am willing to freely admit that I can be a bit of a control freak, I am also willing to freely admit that outside the comfort of my apartment and warm laptop, I can get a little incapable. Case in point…
Sunday. It was the first really gorgeous day here in Chicago. I can enjoy a good walk, I thought. And that’s what I did. For the rest of the day, I was content to sit in my apartment with the windows thrown open, have a little brunch, some coffee and write. That is my idea of a perfect day. Well, my roommate is quite a different animal. Having recovered fully from the menstrual explosion from the other day, she did the walk with me. Then the brunch and the coffee, but the contentment didn’t stop there. Unlike me, whose day called out for words, she wanted to plant things. She’s like, “Oh, it’s such a perfect day. I just want to get a bunch of flowers and plants and such and dig in the front yard and the back yard. I want to go through all that dirt and put some life in there. And oh, it will be so much fun. Let’s go to the Home Depot’s garden department and get all these living things and make stuff pretty.”
Well, I’m all for pretty. But that was not how I wanted to spend the rest of my Sunday. However, it was a small sacrifice, I thought, to go with her to the Home Depot. Just to get the flowers and plants. That’s it. Once we came back to the apartment, she was on her own. Maybe I could sit outside and read a bit while she planted, but I was definitely going to do some writing and no outdoor activity was going to get in my way. Gardening is not my scene. She accepted that and I didn’t have to feel guilty about completely ignoring her on this beautiful day. So, we headed to the Home Depot garden department.
It was busy. And I tried to hide out by going to get a cart while she perused the flowers and tried to make up her mind. (Which I knew would not be an easy task - the cart part too - what are all these people doing out on such a beautiful damn day?) I came back with the cart, painfully pushing myself through the horde of obnoxious people with their carts. She was admiring a large display of daffodils. But questioning the $34.99 price tag on the bottom of the display. Seemed steep for a six-pack of daffodils. That’s because the true price was $2.99, which was clearly evident across the TOP of the display. I told her that price on the bottom was referring to the metal pieces of the display itself, and I emphasized this by poking at it with my toe. Well, I thought I was poking at it. Unfortunately, I don’t know my own strength. I was actually hammering it with much force. When my big toe (think of a Hobbit toe) hit that metal under-girding, (I remind you of the brilliant weather again - hence the vulnerability of my toes in their thin sandal couture), it split wide open. Of course, I didn’t know this immediately. At first, I was only aware of the great pain and hadn’t seen the giant gash that was pulsing. And, of course, I caused a minor and discreet scene. I always do. My roommate missed the whole thing and walked off to check out some pansies.
I moved off to the side with the cart, already full of plants, and out of the way of all those obnoxious customers. That’s when I saw it. The blood. All over my foot. All over my sandal. Soaking into the sole and running onto the cinder block floor in the Home Depot garden department. I just put my head down on the cart and wondered what I was going to do as I bled to death.
When my roommate finally noticed me, it was when she needed to pack the cart some more. She just thought I was just being difficult since I never really wanted to go to the Home Depot garden department in the first place. Since I really only wanted to be home. Inside. With the windows open, of course, on account of it being such a beautiful day. About the time she said, “Come on, let’s just go” in mock frustration, she saw it. The blood. I thought she would care. I thought she would try to help. At least baby me or something. I at least deserved a little pity. I had earned it. She just sent me to the Home Depot restroom with the promise that she wouldn’t leave before I got back. That’s nice.
The restroom was on the other side of the store. About a half a mile. And I was bleeding like a stuck pig. As I dragged my lame leg across the floor, I left a trail of blood. Nobody stopped and helped me. Nobody asked me if I was okay. It was like I was just one of them. One of them with all this blood running out of my big toe. What were they, blind? Some old guy even tried to hit me with his cart. Twice. I couldn’t help but think that none of this would have happened if everyone had just stayed in their house on this beautiful day.
Anyway, I made it to the restroom. Washed up. Stopped the bleeding. It was such a mess. Then I limped back to find my roommate in line, completing the sale of her perennials. Again - no sympathy. I was so glad to get back to the house. I can’t even tell you. And the rest of my day was spent reading and writing in peace. Such a beautiful day. But you see, that’s what’s so sad about this whole thing. While I want to be a bigger man and indulge in the creative arts of the outdoors, I have to admit my weaknesses as I see them. Forget mountain climbing or kayaking or extreme biking - if I can’t make it through a visit to the Home Depot garden department without incident, it would stand to reason that I don’t belong anywhere but indoors.
Sunday. It was the first really gorgeous day here in Chicago. I can enjoy a good walk, I thought. And that’s what I did. For the rest of the day, I was content to sit in my apartment with the windows thrown open, have a little brunch, some coffee and write. That is my idea of a perfect day. Well, my roommate is quite a different animal. Having recovered fully from the menstrual explosion from the other day, she did the walk with me. Then the brunch and the coffee, but the contentment didn’t stop there. Unlike me, whose day called out for words, she wanted to plant things. She’s like, “Oh, it’s such a perfect day. I just want to get a bunch of flowers and plants and such and dig in the front yard and the back yard. I want to go through all that dirt and put some life in there. And oh, it will be so much fun. Let’s go to the Home Depot’s garden department and get all these living things and make stuff pretty.”
Well, I’m all for pretty. But that was not how I wanted to spend the rest of my Sunday. However, it was a small sacrifice, I thought, to go with her to the Home Depot. Just to get the flowers and plants. That’s it. Once we came back to the apartment, she was on her own. Maybe I could sit outside and read a bit while she planted, but I was definitely going to do some writing and no outdoor activity was going to get in my way. Gardening is not my scene. She accepted that and I didn’t have to feel guilty about completely ignoring her on this beautiful day. So, we headed to the Home Depot garden department.
It was busy. And I tried to hide out by going to get a cart while she perused the flowers and tried to make up her mind. (Which I knew would not be an easy task - the cart part too - what are all these people doing out on such a beautiful damn day?) I came back with the cart, painfully pushing myself through the horde of obnoxious people with their carts. She was admiring a large display of daffodils. But questioning the $34.99 price tag on the bottom of the display. Seemed steep for a six-pack of daffodils. That’s because the true price was $2.99, which was clearly evident across the TOP of the display. I told her that price on the bottom was referring to the metal pieces of the display itself, and I emphasized this by poking at it with my toe. Well, I thought I was poking at it. Unfortunately, I don’t know my own strength. I was actually hammering it with much force. When my big toe (think of a Hobbit toe) hit that metal under-girding, (I remind you of the brilliant weather again - hence the vulnerability of my toes in their thin sandal couture), it split wide open. Of course, I didn’t know this immediately. At first, I was only aware of the great pain and hadn’t seen the giant gash that was pulsing. And, of course, I caused a minor and discreet scene. I always do. My roommate missed the whole thing and walked off to check out some pansies.
I moved off to the side with the cart, already full of plants, and out of the way of all those obnoxious customers. That’s when I saw it. The blood. All over my foot. All over my sandal. Soaking into the sole and running onto the cinder block floor in the Home Depot garden department. I just put my head down on the cart and wondered what I was going to do as I bled to death.
When my roommate finally noticed me, it was when she needed to pack the cart some more. She just thought I was just being difficult since I never really wanted to go to the Home Depot garden department in the first place. Since I really only wanted to be home. Inside. With the windows open, of course, on account of it being such a beautiful day. About the time she said, “Come on, let’s just go” in mock frustration, she saw it. The blood. I thought she would care. I thought she would try to help. At least baby me or something. I at least deserved a little pity. I had earned it. She just sent me to the Home Depot restroom with the promise that she wouldn’t leave before I got back. That’s nice.
The restroom was on the other side of the store. About a half a mile. And I was bleeding like a stuck pig. As I dragged my lame leg across the floor, I left a trail of blood. Nobody stopped and helped me. Nobody asked me if I was okay. It was like I was just one of them. One of them with all this blood running out of my big toe. What were they, blind? Some old guy even tried to hit me with his cart. Twice. I couldn’t help but think that none of this would have happened if everyone had just stayed in their house on this beautiful day.
Anyway, I made it to the restroom. Washed up. Stopped the bleeding. It was such a mess. Then I limped back to find my roommate in line, completing the sale of her perennials. Again - no sympathy. I was so glad to get back to the house. I can’t even tell you. And the rest of my day was spent reading and writing in peace. Such a beautiful day. But you see, that’s what’s so sad about this whole thing. While I want to be a bigger man and indulge in the creative arts of the outdoors, I have to admit my weaknesses as I see them. Forget mountain climbing or kayaking or extreme biking - if I can’t make it through a visit to the Home Depot garden department without incident, it would stand to reason that I don’t belong anywhere but indoors.
posted by The Passenger at 4:53 PM
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