Sure-footedness is not a state of mind

24 04 2008

It’s a good thing I wasn’t born a super-villain. If I had been, then many people would die on a fairly regular basis. I like to think that there would be a steady stream of super-evil atrocities issued forth from my sinister lair, rather than just one big ‘ol “Ka-boom! There goes Miami!” kind of thing. Also, utterly obliterating Miami would be like a second Holocaust, since the place is fairly brimming with elderly Jews. That’s just not for me.

I’m pleased that I’m not a super-villain, and also not a super-hero. That would simply be too much pressure, like having sex with George Clooney. I’m also pretty glad that I was there today to witness one of the truly pivotal moments in human history. These times only come along every so often, and those who are around to see them are surely blessed. I’m speaking, obviously, of watching a young man about my age take a fairly graceful tumble from about fifteen feet flat onto solid, unfriendly concrete. It was, in a word, majestic.

In several more words, it was also completely fucking terrifying. Some carrier of a particularly virulent strain of dumbass decided to go prancing atop a row of plate steel racks without the benefit of a) a hardhat, b) a safety lanyard, and c) awareness of the force and theory of gravity. I do the same thing all the time, but, for reasons evidently unknown to the poor now-misshapen sap, I rarely lose my balance. I credit my intense dislike for having things on my body forcibly rearranged as the leading factor that keeps me head-up and not in traction.

Anyway, the guy was just hopping and skipping–yes, literally skipping–on top of these racks while attempting to satisfy some as-yet unknown purpose. I was watching from the safety and comfort of a forklift driver’s seat some thirty yards away, all aquiver with trepidation and, I admit, some measure of excitement. It just seemed inevitable that something bad should happen to the poor fucker. Firstly, he was breaking more-or-less every applicable safety rule, especially the one that states “Do not skip on top of things”; secondly, he was wearing a Creed t-shirt. Karma is a wheel, and also despises Scott Stapp.

Anyway, I had only been watching for about a minute when he fell. He either misjudged the distance between the floors of the racks, or lost all motor function while skipping like a bearded schoolgirl. One second the asshole was up in the air, the next he disappeared from sight. It happened in literally an instant, like diarrhea farts.

Well, long story short, he got hurt pretty badly. I’m almost positive his clavicle was broken, but I can’t be sure. There were far too many unnatural angles in that area to be certain. He’s a pothead, so he’ll lose his job, and he’s a temp, so there aren’t any unemployment benefits. I’m just glad he wasn’t one of my minions. I won’t even begin to tell you how hard I would kick their asses for that level of stupidity.

How does all of this relate to the superhero angle? Well, simply put, if I were a superhero, I would have been able to dash the thirty yards over to him the instant before he fell. Not to prevent it, though.When the gods are handing out object lessons, I stand clear. Mainly, it would have been so I could have had a front-row seat to a fucking fabulous pratfall.

Seriously–kudos, my good sir. Kudos.

Dumb-shit.