story time

Well, we've had plenty of serious topics here lately. I have decided to write about something more light-hearted.

Anyway, I was biking to my microbiology class this morning and was reminded of a certain rather entertaining bike accident a few years ago.
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It was my freshman year (that's two years ago), about this time of year. I had forgotten to watch the clock as I went to lunch with some of my friends in the student union building. Once I finally looked at my watch, I realized that I was late for my trigonometry class. That wouldn't have bothered me except that the teacher was a REALLY sweet lady and the class was tiny. I didn't want her to feel like I just ditched.

My teacher, Mrs. Falk, was 4 feet, 7 inches tall. Every class, she would ask two of the four guys in the class to help her move platforms from her office down the hall into the classroom. She had to stand on these platforms to reach the top of the chalkboard. It was sad. It was also REALLY FUNNY to me. However, she was one of the most energetic teachers I have ever had and I really enjoyed the class.

So, back to the real story... I realized that I was late. But, I was still in a rather good mood. My friends and I had been having a good time joking around and throwing food at each other.

I walked out of the student union only to realize that it was raining. Awesome. I love the rain. I REALLY love biking in the rain. It's stupid and a great way to get into an accident, but I still really love it. There's just something about pedalling as hard as you can and having drops of water burst against your face that's just exhilerating. Bad idea number one.

I needed to get to class and I got a bit cocky. I decided that I would time myself. Bad idea number two.

I'm speeding down campus with all the fury of a teenage moron who doesn't yet understand his propensity for getting himself hurt.

Now, dear readers, understand that I'm the kind of guy who doesn't want anyone to have to go to any sort of trouble on his account. So, I am not only speeding down campus as fast as possible, but I'm weaving in between pedestrians and on and off the sidewalk.

There's a pack of girls who are moving rather slowly and I'm coming up behind them much too fast to politely ask them to move. So, thinking fast, I lean off the walkway and on to the grass on my right. Crisis averted.

Well, I pass this drove of females and lean to my left to get back on the pavement. Suddenly, my front tire jerks and I have lost control. I somehow fly over the front of the handle bars and hit the ground, my bike now behind me.

Momentum is quite a force, especially when it's the in the form of a bike you've rather sensationally dismounted and it's still attached to your leg. The bike slides into my side rather hard, but still has plenty of energy left in it. So, defying gravity, it begins to "jump" over my torso.

Without thinking (something I should have been doing when I was still on the bike), I reach forward and grab the bike as it sails over me.

What I would like to say is that I somehow used the bike's transferred inertia to miraculously be pulled back onto the bike and perpendicular to the ground. Thus, pedalling again and continuing along my merry way to class.

That didn't happen. I tossed the bike to my left side and carefully removed my leg from the middle of the bike's frame. My head is now resting on my backpack (thank God for that, because you should be able to guess by now that I wasn't wearing a helmet). So, I decided to relax for a moment and catch my breath.

As I'm laying there, the pack of wenches stifles their laughter long enough to walk to feet past me. A number of other people do the same, including three of my coworkers. No one, not a single kind soul decides to stop and help me. I stand up and hop back on my bike.

I decide to coast the rest of the way to class, since it's all downhill anyway.

I finally get to class, twenty-five minutes late. I silently sit down in my desk and smile to my rather confused teacher.

The adrenaline is now kicking in and my hands are quivering. No, shaking. Rather violently. My palms are cut and bleeding, along with the inside of my right arm.

The teacher's assistant walks to my desk and kindly informs me that I'm bleeding all over my desk. She thinks that I should go clean the cuts and then clean the desk.

Thanks. I'm glad there are some people who are willing to help a poor moron when blood's gushing out of his appendages.

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Daily Ditty:
Kasabian - Butcher Blues