My crutches were lame. They pointed out to everyone in the room that I lacked the ability to ambulate in a normal manner-- that I was in fact lame. They were the temporary underarm kind, which invited a constant drone of “What happened?” from nearly everyone I encountered. Answering with a few particular conditions such as knee surgery for an old nagging sports injury or brutal ski accident could quickly conclude the conversation in most cases. I began to use “Tripped on a curb” for the folks I had encountered earlier in the week. These types of conditions people can get their heads around relatively quickly. A knife wound is not one of those conditions. Once you say, “Knife wound,” the concerned citizen inevitably wants to know the whole story. If I were in the Bronx, no one would bat an eyelash. But I wasn’t in the Bronx.
Luckily one time when I responded with “Knife wound,” a curious woman replied indignantly, “Okay, I get it. Too embarrassing to talk about. Sorry for showing a little compassion.”
To which I replied, “You seem to have the terms intrusive and compassionate confused with each other. I gave you exactly what you wanted.”
I almost wished I were using forearm crutches. If my crutches were forearm crutches, no one would be asking me what happened. They would all assume I was palsied. Plus I could throat punch people without losing a crutch.
A cane was what I needed. A cane has a slim and low profile. A cane adds an air of sophistication and mystery. When the cane is in use by one hand, your other hand remains free to wave and grab ass. A cane is great place to hide stuff. A cane is simply a great all around prop.
The painkillers put me in a weird mood. The idea popped into my head that I needed a cane sword. I would be ready for the next knife fight, and I would have the biggest knife. I actually found a cutlery shop, which carried a variety of cane swords. I really liked the ones with the dragonheads and skulls but felt their aggressive and morbid symbolism would telegraph that my cane concealed a deadly weapon. It was the moment I decided on a very simple model that I pictured myself at the airport the next day navigating the security gauntlet. My cane sword dream evaporated as I pictured the TSA agent confiscating my instrument of death.
How about a cane with a built-in booze flask? That would put two things I needed in one awesome package. Then I realized that there wasn’t a zip-lock bag in the world big enough to hold a cane. The specter of the TSA ruined my dream once again. At least with my injury I’d be getting a choice seat on the plane albeit without a cane.
My experience at Orlando International Airport the next day was actually quite pleasant. Nell had reserved a wheelchair for me. I bypassed pretty much every line the airport could throw at me. My crutches had a much easier time making it through the x-ray machine than any sword cane would have had. The skycap pushing me around was a jovial fellow. I let him do most of the talking.
“You know, Shel, I’m getting pretty close to retiring, and I finally have enough saved up to get my little barbeque shack started. I make a mean brisket, my friend. When I open up, I want you to be one of my first customers. Next time you’re in town, I guarantee you Gary’s Grease Pit will be open for business, celebrating fast cars and good eats. I know having the word “grease” in the name seems a little counterintuitive, but I heard of this place called the Heart Attack Grill that’s making it work. I wanted to steal a little of that magic I suppose. Plus the whole hot rod theme fits into the name. I can’t wait for you to try my brisket.”
We had already gotten past bonding over having sustained similar injuries. The knife that stuck me was matched by the piece of shrapnel Gary caught in his leg while serving in Vietnam. I left the man with a fat tip. I didn’t even care if he was making everything up about the restaurant and receiving the Purple Heart. If the man was emulating a person emanating positive vibrations, he deserved an Oscar.
I was the first passenger on the plane. I made myself a nice little ottoman using my carry-on luggage taking advantage of all the legroom by the bulkhead. I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket, so I pulled it out to take the call. I looked at the little display on the phone to see who was calling. The screen wasn’t even lit up. I unlocked the phone. There was no call. That was a little odd.
Recalling that radio transmitters and receivers weren’t cool to be using during take off, I went ahead and turned off my phone. A few minutes later, I felt it vibrating again. Didn’t I just turn it off? Maybe I thought I did but didn’t. I pulled out the phone again to take the call or maybe read the text message. The screen was dark. The phone was off. Did someone slip something in my drink? Was I starting to trip down a road I really did not want to go down while stuck on an airplane?
I held the phone in my hand to wait for the next phantom vibration. A few minutes later, I felt the vibration, but it wasn’t in my hand. It was in my pocket. I reached into my pocket only to confirm what I already knew. There was nothing in it. I kept my hand in my pocket waiting for the next wave. It came a few minutes later. Apparently the minor nerve damage I had incurred from the knife wound was causing an area of my left quadriceps to quiver involuntarily. It just had to be right where my phone sits in my pocket. I hoped this wasn’t going to be permanent thing. My phone always vibrates a little before it is about to ring. When this occurs, my hand just slips into my pocket. I had committed this to muscle memory long ago. This would be hard habit to unlearn. Now being a lefty had one more strike against it. Every camcorder I’ve ever owned was designed for righties. Ink smears, writing desks, and potato peelers confound me. I had to use my strongest punching hand to parry a knife attack from a righty. The list goes on and on.
After arriving at LAX and collecting our baggage, Nell intervened as I turned to catch a shuttle to where my car was parked.
“I hope you’re not driving home, Sheldon.”
“Well, I’m going to have to figure out how to do this eventually. I’ll have to take the brace off of course. All the pedal work is with my right leg, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Let’s not take any chances with Burnett Media coming up. I’m happy to drive you home.”
“I can’t just leave my car here.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have Sunday and Peter take turns running errands for you. Their first task will be to retrieve your car. I want you focused, Sheldon. Now let’s go.”
The valet pulled up to the curb with Nell’s white 760. How could I resist?
“So how about a little horsepower demonstration once we get on the freeway?” I asked as the valet loaded our luggage.
“Such a juvenile request. We shan’t be driving recklessly with your leg the way it is.”
“Are you kidding? This thing has active knee protection. We could drive it straight into a wall if we wanted.”
“We’ll see.”
Nell did not disappoint. Once we made it out of the LAX loop, she floored it. It actually freaked me out a little. She was driving like she acted in business—impulsively at full speed.
“You’ve done this before.”
“When you have power, Sheldon, you use it.”
“So you don’t worry about the state taking that power away for mocking its rules and regulations?”
“Part of maintaining power is knowing when to use it most effectively. You take calculated risks. You operate on the fine line between hidden exploitation and abuse.”
“So that’s my problem. I haven’t been typing my risky moves into a calculator first.”
“You take on an armed assailant with only your fists. You insult the head of one of the largest corporations in the world with a drunken harangue. I’d say your calculator is broken, Sheldon.”
“So where do I get a new one? Do I need a new one?”
“If you had the same set of values I have, I could easily show you what you need to know. But based on what I know so far about what you value, Sheldon, I’d say you’ll be just fine without one. A Sheldon with a working calculator just wouldn’t be Sheldon.”
“This is exactly why I’m still having trouble wondering why I’m the guy to talk to Burnett.”
“You’ve heard the term ‘preaching to the choir’. That’s not what Burnett needs. I could send in Gorin, and everyone at Burnett would applaud and nod their heads at everything he would have to say. And they would be no better off after the experience. They would achieve zero growth. This is exactly why I tend to send Gorin to talk to internet startups and charitable organizations. He doesn’t tell them what they want to hear. He tells them what they need to hear.”
“Uh, I think your calculator might be a little on the fritz, Nell. Check your rearview.”
“Damn!”
The red and blue flashing lights of an LAPD Interceptor filled up the cabin of the BMW. Nell apparently had stepped a little too far over the line into power abuse territory and gently pulled her car over to the side of the road. The officer that approached was not imposing at all. The flashlight flicked on to blind and intimidate.
“License and registration,” came a sweet familiar voice.
“Hello, Carla,” said Nell delightedly.
“Oh my gosh! I didn’t realize this was your Beamer, Nell. You’re back from Talking Heads, and… you have Sheldon with you.”
“Hi, Carla.”
“I’m giving Sheldon a lift back to his place. He injured his leg in Orlando,” explained Nell.
“Oh no. What happened, Shel?”
“I, uh, cut myself shaving.”
“Don’t be modest, Sheldon. He was stabbed rescuing a young woman from a sexual assault. Our Sheldon is a hunk of heroic maculinity.”
Nell briefly retold the story to an entranced Carla.
“I don’t believe it. This is crazy. Sheldon, you have to tell me all about it. I don’t care how late it is. I’m coming by after my shift.”
Carla gauged our reaction almost to see if Nell and I had plans other than just a ride home.
“Okay. I might be asleep then, but you can always wake me. It’s no problem if you’re that eager to hear about it.”
“I am. Hey, I’m going to let you guys go of course, but I have to ask you really quick, Nell, have you been drinking at all?”
“No. I was just showing Sheldon how quickly the BMW can accelerate.”
“Well, next time try to just describe it to him rather than show him. I don’t want to see my friends getting hurt in an accident. Just to let you know, if I didn’t know you, I’d be writing up a citation for reckless driving right now, so consider yourself very lucky, and drive safe from now on.”
“Certainly, Carla. Thank you.”
“Bye, Shel.”
“See you later, Officer Diaz.”
We continued on to my place both coming down from the little adrenaline rush capped by the pleasant surprise of seeing Carla. I pulled my suitcase out of the trunk, and Nell helped me wheel it up to my apartment. There were no awkward moments. Nell gave me a quick hug and said good night. Once inside, I rounded up a couple pillows to help prop up my leg and crashed on my bed almost immediately.
Carla never stopped by after her shift like she said she was going to. I woke up the next morning and there were no messages on my phone and no notes on the door. I have to say I was a little disappointed. After seeing Carla in her uniform the night before, my dreams that night were filled with handcuffs and harsh interrogation techniques.
Fortunately, she did make it a point to stop by that day before her next shift started.
“Hey, hero, how’s it going?”
“Leg’s a little stiff and achy, but I have some killer meds to take care of it.”
“I brought you this.”
She handed me a gift.
“A cane. Awesome. This is completely unnecessary, but thank you. I will walk the streets now with much more panache.”
“Wait. Check this out.”
She grabbed the cane from me, twisted the handle and unsheathed the motherfucking sword.
“This is absolutely incredible. You read my mind. You’re psychic, Carla.”
“There is an engraved ‘S’ on it for Sheldon or Superman right here on the handle. I got you this simple one because I figured you wouldn’t go for something flashy.”
“Nope. This is perfect.”
“So give me all the details. I want to know how it went down.”
I expanded on the summarized version of the story Nell gave her the night before. Carla was enthralled. She wanted to hear it blow by blow with every bit of minutiae I could recall. Her morbid curiosity was unnerving yet exciting. Upon the conclusion of the story, Carla put her hand over her heart, smiled, took a deep breath, and sighed.
“Sheldon, this heroic side of you makes me crazy.”
“So how about a little kiss for the hero?”
Carla stared at me for about ten seconds before responding.
“How about you work on getting that leg healed. We don’t want to tear any stitches,” she said as she closed her eyes over the last word.
Carla gave me tender kiss on my bed head before leaving. I spent the next half hour in my most unorthodox spank session. Pulling your pud without moving one of your legs is a very delicate procedure.
Luckily one time when I responded with “Knife wound,” a curious woman replied indignantly, “Okay, I get it. Too embarrassing to talk about. Sorry for showing a little compassion.”
To which I replied, “You seem to have the terms intrusive and compassionate confused with each other. I gave you exactly what you wanted.”
I almost wished I were using forearm crutches. If my crutches were forearm crutches, no one would be asking me what happened. They would all assume I was palsied. Plus I could throat punch people without losing a crutch.
A cane was what I needed. A cane has a slim and low profile. A cane adds an air of sophistication and mystery. When the cane is in use by one hand, your other hand remains free to wave and grab ass. A cane is great place to hide stuff. A cane is simply a great all around prop.
The painkillers put me in a weird mood. The idea popped into my head that I needed a cane sword. I would be ready for the next knife fight, and I would have the biggest knife. I actually found a cutlery shop, which carried a variety of cane swords. I really liked the ones with the dragonheads and skulls but felt their aggressive and morbid symbolism would telegraph that my cane concealed a deadly weapon. It was the moment I decided on a very simple model that I pictured myself at the airport the next day navigating the security gauntlet. My cane sword dream evaporated as I pictured the TSA agent confiscating my instrument of death.
How about a cane with a built-in booze flask? That would put two things I needed in one awesome package. Then I realized that there wasn’t a zip-lock bag in the world big enough to hold a cane. The specter of the TSA ruined my dream once again. At least with my injury I’d be getting a choice seat on the plane albeit without a cane.
---
My experience at Orlando International Airport the next day was actually quite pleasant. Nell had reserved a wheelchair for me. I bypassed pretty much every line the airport could throw at me. My crutches had a much easier time making it through the x-ray machine than any sword cane would have had. The skycap pushing me around was a jovial fellow. I let him do most of the talking.
“You know, Shel, I’m getting pretty close to retiring, and I finally have enough saved up to get my little barbeque shack started. I make a mean brisket, my friend. When I open up, I want you to be one of my first customers. Next time you’re in town, I guarantee you Gary’s Grease Pit will be open for business, celebrating fast cars and good eats. I know having the word “grease” in the name seems a little counterintuitive, but I heard of this place called the Heart Attack Grill that’s making it work. I wanted to steal a little of that magic I suppose. Plus the whole hot rod theme fits into the name. I can’t wait for you to try my brisket.”
We had already gotten past bonding over having sustained similar injuries. The knife that stuck me was matched by the piece of shrapnel Gary caught in his leg while serving in Vietnam. I left the man with a fat tip. I didn’t even care if he was making everything up about the restaurant and receiving the Purple Heart. If the man was emulating a person emanating positive vibrations, he deserved an Oscar.
I was the first passenger on the plane. I made myself a nice little ottoman using my carry-on luggage taking advantage of all the legroom by the bulkhead. I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket, so I pulled it out to take the call. I looked at the little display on the phone to see who was calling. The screen wasn’t even lit up. I unlocked the phone. There was no call. That was a little odd.
Recalling that radio transmitters and receivers weren’t cool to be using during take off, I went ahead and turned off my phone. A few minutes later, I felt it vibrating again. Didn’t I just turn it off? Maybe I thought I did but didn’t. I pulled out the phone again to take the call or maybe read the text message. The screen was dark. The phone was off. Did someone slip something in my drink? Was I starting to trip down a road I really did not want to go down while stuck on an airplane?
I held the phone in my hand to wait for the next phantom vibration. A few minutes later, I felt the vibration, but it wasn’t in my hand. It was in my pocket. I reached into my pocket only to confirm what I already knew. There was nothing in it. I kept my hand in my pocket waiting for the next wave. It came a few minutes later. Apparently the minor nerve damage I had incurred from the knife wound was causing an area of my left quadriceps to quiver involuntarily. It just had to be right where my phone sits in my pocket. I hoped this wasn’t going to be permanent thing. My phone always vibrates a little before it is about to ring. When this occurs, my hand just slips into my pocket. I had committed this to muscle memory long ago. This would be hard habit to unlearn. Now being a lefty had one more strike against it. Every camcorder I’ve ever owned was designed for righties. Ink smears, writing desks, and potato peelers confound me. I had to use my strongest punching hand to parry a knife attack from a righty. The list goes on and on.
After arriving at LAX and collecting our baggage, Nell intervened as I turned to catch a shuttle to where my car was parked.
“I hope you’re not driving home, Sheldon.”
“Well, I’m going to have to figure out how to do this eventually. I’ll have to take the brace off of course. All the pedal work is with my right leg, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Let’s not take any chances with Burnett Media coming up. I’m happy to drive you home.”
“I can’t just leave my car here.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have Sunday and Peter take turns running errands for you. Their first task will be to retrieve your car. I want you focused, Sheldon. Now let’s go.”
The valet pulled up to the curb with Nell’s white 760. How could I resist?
“So how about a little horsepower demonstration once we get on the freeway?” I asked as the valet loaded our luggage.
“Such a juvenile request. We shan’t be driving recklessly with your leg the way it is.”
“Are you kidding? This thing has active knee protection. We could drive it straight into a wall if we wanted.”
“We’ll see.”
Nell did not disappoint. Once we made it out of the LAX loop, she floored it. It actually freaked me out a little. She was driving like she acted in business—impulsively at full speed.
“You’ve done this before.”
“When you have power, Sheldon, you use it.”
“So you don’t worry about the state taking that power away for mocking its rules and regulations?”
“Part of maintaining power is knowing when to use it most effectively. You take calculated risks. You operate on the fine line between hidden exploitation and abuse.”
“So that’s my problem. I haven’t been typing my risky moves into a calculator first.”
“You take on an armed assailant with only your fists. You insult the head of one of the largest corporations in the world with a drunken harangue. I’d say your calculator is broken, Sheldon.”
“So where do I get a new one? Do I need a new one?”
“If you had the same set of values I have, I could easily show you what you need to know. But based on what I know so far about what you value, Sheldon, I’d say you’ll be just fine without one. A Sheldon with a working calculator just wouldn’t be Sheldon.”
“This is exactly why I’m still having trouble wondering why I’m the guy to talk to Burnett.”
“You’ve heard the term ‘preaching to the choir’. That’s not what Burnett needs. I could send in Gorin, and everyone at Burnett would applaud and nod their heads at everything he would have to say. And they would be no better off after the experience. They would achieve zero growth. This is exactly why I tend to send Gorin to talk to internet startups and charitable organizations. He doesn’t tell them what they want to hear. He tells them what they need to hear.”
“Uh, I think your calculator might be a little on the fritz, Nell. Check your rearview.”
“Damn!”
The red and blue flashing lights of an LAPD Interceptor filled up the cabin of the BMW. Nell apparently had stepped a little too far over the line into power abuse territory and gently pulled her car over to the side of the road. The officer that approached was not imposing at all. The flashlight flicked on to blind and intimidate.
“License and registration,” came a sweet familiar voice.
“Hello, Carla,” said Nell delightedly.
“Oh my gosh! I didn’t realize this was your Beamer, Nell. You’re back from Talking Heads, and… you have Sheldon with you.”
“Hi, Carla.”
“I’m giving Sheldon a lift back to his place. He injured his leg in Orlando,” explained Nell.
“Oh no. What happened, Shel?”
“I, uh, cut myself shaving.”
“Don’t be modest, Sheldon. He was stabbed rescuing a young woman from a sexual assault. Our Sheldon is a hunk of heroic maculinity.”
Nell briefly retold the story to an entranced Carla.
“I don’t believe it. This is crazy. Sheldon, you have to tell me all about it. I don’t care how late it is. I’m coming by after my shift.”
Carla gauged our reaction almost to see if Nell and I had plans other than just a ride home.
“Okay. I might be asleep then, but you can always wake me. It’s no problem if you’re that eager to hear about it.”
“I am. Hey, I’m going to let you guys go of course, but I have to ask you really quick, Nell, have you been drinking at all?”
“No. I was just showing Sheldon how quickly the BMW can accelerate.”
“Well, next time try to just describe it to him rather than show him. I don’t want to see my friends getting hurt in an accident. Just to let you know, if I didn’t know you, I’d be writing up a citation for reckless driving right now, so consider yourself very lucky, and drive safe from now on.”
“Certainly, Carla. Thank you.”
“Bye, Shel.”
“See you later, Officer Diaz.”
We continued on to my place both coming down from the little adrenaline rush capped by the pleasant surprise of seeing Carla. I pulled my suitcase out of the trunk, and Nell helped me wheel it up to my apartment. There were no awkward moments. Nell gave me a quick hug and said good night. Once inside, I rounded up a couple pillows to help prop up my leg and crashed on my bed almost immediately.
Carla never stopped by after her shift like she said she was going to. I woke up the next morning and there were no messages on my phone and no notes on the door. I have to say I was a little disappointed. After seeing Carla in her uniform the night before, my dreams that night were filled with handcuffs and harsh interrogation techniques.
Fortunately, she did make it a point to stop by that day before her next shift started.
“Hey, hero, how’s it going?”
“Leg’s a little stiff and achy, but I have some killer meds to take care of it.”
“I brought you this.”
She handed me a gift.
“A cane. Awesome. This is completely unnecessary, but thank you. I will walk the streets now with much more panache.”
“Wait. Check this out.”
She grabbed the cane from me, twisted the handle and unsheathed the motherfucking sword.
“This is absolutely incredible. You read my mind. You’re psychic, Carla.”
“There is an engraved ‘S’ on it for Sheldon or Superman right here on the handle. I got you this simple one because I figured you wouldn’t go for something flashy.”
“Nope. This is perfect.”
“So give me all the details. I want to know how it went down.”
I expanded on the summarized version of the story Nell gave her the night before. Carla was enthralled. She wanted to hear it blow by blow with every bit of minutiae I could recall. Her morbid curiosity was unnerving yet exciting. Upon the conclusion of the story, Carla put her hand over her heart, smiled, took a deep breath, and sighed.
“Sheldon, this heroic side of you makes me crazy.”
“So how about a little kiss for the hero?”
Carla stared at me for about ten seconds before responding.
“How about you work on getting that leg healed. We don’t want to tear any stitches,” she said as she closed her eyes over the last word.
Carla gave me tender kiss on my bed head before leaving. I spent the next half hour in my most unorthodox spank session. Pulling your pud without moving one of your legs is a very delicate procedure.
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