Opportunity

Imagine, if you will, two bread trucks backed up to each other so the two vertically-opening doors can be lifted so that goods can be transferred from one to the other. They do not quite meet, so that there is about a 20" gap between the two, and one truck bed is about 5" higher than the other. One bread truck belongs to a charity that cannot afford luxuries like maintenance, nor can the warehouse bread truck, which is used instead of the actual warehouse because a largish rat showed up in the bread about 9 months ago and the charity doesn't take the risk - even for the immigrants being given the bread tomorrow who are used to working around rats since childhood.

Moving bread from Truck A to Truck B is one of my three stops every Friday. Six months ago I seriously banged my head on the poorly-maintained warehouse truck's rolling vertical door, bleeding all over the wrapped bread and my own clothes. I banged it again today, because it doesn't quite go all the way up to where it should and I didn't notice. I never do.  It was much gentler this time, and my scalp didn't bleed. But I did shy away from it, lost my balance slightly, which turned into "quite a bit, actually," and somehow bumped against both trucks on my way down.  I did not fall into the 20" gap, but impossibly fell outside the two trucks onto the pavement from about 3 feet above the ground. I landed on my shoulder and elbow and lay there, mentally surveying whether I was lightheaded, which parts of me hurt, etc. (See link.) I resolved not to try and stand or even sit up until I had figured out what was up. It sucks getting old and losing your balance gradually, so that you realise even on your way down that a year ago you could have gotten a foot under yourself and stayed roughly vertical, but now are headed for a very unforgiving place. 

I just barely protected my head with my flannel shirt-sweater-winter coat sleeve! I am very proud of that.

Long story not really short, I ended up in Emergency Services, answering the same questions repeatedly. I was able to try out my wise-ass lines on different audiences as I went. I had it down to a routine by the time I got to the final Physician's Assistant, and the harried staff pretty much loved me and had a brief moment of joy.  My favorite was answering "When did you first notice symptoms?"

"Right about the time I hit the pavement, actually." (While thinking "I can't wait to tell this to someone.")

"Who is the president?" 

"Is this a trick question?" (That got a laugh both times.)

When you were Al Wyman's son, everything that happens might possibly turn into a vaudeville routine. Life is richer.