Ok so never mind the twelve-hour work day or the fact that my colleague bruised my ribs with a door… I am starting to think we’ve got imps. I mean – why else would these things keep happening? You can blame it on faulty wiring or shoddy workmanship or whatever the hell you like – too many things that can’t really happen, and certainly not twice, keep happening all the damn time.
And the problem is – we are dependant on a lot of tech stuff for everything to work. I mean you can’t even get through the door if the power goes out. And most of the time everything works. But some of the time nothing works. And some of the time the stuff that doesn’t work does so in interesting and unexpected ways. That’s when you get calls from the fire departement politely asking if you’re having a little fire or what? I love that calm and somehow surreal conversation you have with their staff where the lady I talk to sounds like one of those ship computers from a distant future (well, maybe not that distant…) that put you in mind of HAL 9000 aboard the Discovery.
Also, going dark creates a two second “be very still – what the hell just happened” feeling where you just freaze up like a rabbit that has just been shrouded in a decidedly eagle shaped shadow. And then there is disbelief. And, because I am getting used to this kind of thing (which is sick and wrong for many reasons), I think it’s kind of funny. I don’t freak out as badly as the people around me. I oversee the ensuing chaos with mild amusement. “There, there. Now, now”.
Had we been deeply rural, out in the boonies, or working in house built on an old Indian burial ground these things had been less surprising – but we are right in the middle of town. Right in the thick soup of modern life with everything that entails. So, this shit should not happen. And it certainly shouldn’t happen with such alarming regularity.
Ok – back to my bruised ribs. Me and Mr Colleague Nr One were carrying a door. Never mind why. A full sized, solid fire safety door still in the frame is pretty heavy, putting it mildly. After having had the ususal conversation which goes something like this:
-Let’s tilt it to the right.
-Ok, Nr One Colleague. My right or your right?
-?
-We’ve facing each other. So my right or your right?
-Mine.
-Is it locked?
-?
And just as I ask the door slips open and almost takes my fingers off as it closes again. Ok, that was pretty much a given. On the way down the stairs (two flights) Colleague Nr One gets a little carried away and manages to push instead of following as I back down nice and slow, to I get the entire weight of the door concentrated to just one corner jammed into my ribs.
Bad language happens at this point. You have a tendency to fall back on the classics at moments like those. I might have mentioned his mother. Parts of the animal kindom. Anatomy. Genetics. That sort of thing. What freaked him out was that I did so in a soft and mild voice. Surveing the damage when I got home and stepped in the shower I realise that somewhere along the line I must have gotten my clavicle banged up as well. The irony is that that hurts so much worse. It’s just bone. There wasn’t even a bruise… Ribs bend, I guess. That’s the way they were designed. Clavicles don’t even give a little.
Time to coin a new saying here? “I am a rib I can bend” instead of “I am a reed…” Hmm… Maybe not.
ROL
ROL
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