i just almost fell down a well.
or a sewer.
since i'm in the city, i'm not sure which it is yet. i'll check it out in a minute and see. right now, i'm waiting for my work clothes and my waterproof boots to dry, so i figured i'd kill two birds with one stone and renew my commitment to blogging more regularly.
so i live in America, the land of the free, in an "inner-city," speedily gentrifying community. my mom lives in the same neighborhood, in the house where i grew up. now, let me explain what that means: it means that as a 40 plus year property owner, you can do whatever you'd like--that is, unless one or two of the new "hip" "progressive" "urban pioneering" neighbors (think you can translate the media PC terms?) decide they don't like what you have--or haven't done--to your house or property, they call in codes anonymously and paint you to be the devil. codes comes out (they never patrol) and because they've been called to the scene, they might as well find a crime.
so a couple of weeks ago, my mom's water heater busted and flooded the basement. yours truly, being the son in the neighborhood, had to pull a sampling of 40 years of accumulation out of the basement to get to the flooding and save the day. well what do you know, one of our watchful, friendly neighborhood preservationists (translate: people who have so much cash and free time, they spend their days and weekends arguing, over wine and cheese, who can preserve the largest lengths of original baseboard in their pre-forties bathrooms, damn the cost. and damn those fixed-income neighbors who don't recognize the treasures they live in!) called codes and reported mom's as a public dump.
welcome to America.
so, in addition to having the dumpster come in that i had already (unbeknownst to the good neighbors) been working on, i scrapped the hired help and attacked the first pile, myself. i put on my favorite workjeans (after sewing up the massive hole just under the crotch area), stopped by the dollar store for more workgloves (i have 6 pairs of workgloves, all missing the right hand. note to self--take off the left glove all day today), rolled by starbuck's and got a strong cup of java, and started attacking the mountain one little bit at a time. i was jamming to the soundtrack to "Three Mo' Tenors" and lifting and moving all kinds of junk that got even junkier after last week's rain. i was excited that two thirds of the way through the pile, most of the little stuff was gone and i had room in the dumpster for a few more things. yes! i could clear my basement, too! happy thoughts were sailing as i stepped in and leaned forward into the mini-mountain with my right foot.
then, it happened.
and man, did it happen fast. i hadn't looked where i was stepping, really, but i knew i was on a board. i guess in my mind it was a piece of plywood or other particle board i'd pulled from the basement. little did i know that it was, more than likely, a piece of wood my dad had put over an old well/sewer line that ran under our backyard and got exposed years ago when our big germanshepherdmixed dog "Valentine" (pronounced ValenTIME in our 'hood, colloquially, thank you) wore out the ground around the old tree he was chained to that used to stand near the spot. smart move by my pops. the wood was a good temporary fix.
oh, did i mention my dad passed away six years ago?
now you get the picture. not only had i forgotten about the well, the wood. i'd forgotten that i'd placed the pile directly on top of it all. mix the weight of 5 feet of junk, 7 or 8 years of rot, a fresh rain, and the primary weight of a six two, 190 pound brothaman on a size 13 boot and what do you have?
BOOM!
i was like "OH ________!" (add your expletive of preference). it gave way, and i was headed two directions at blinding speed--forward and DOWN. instinct made me reach to both sides and i was able to catch myself as i felt cold water rising up almost to my knee. i didn't feel a bottom. i said "Whoa!" out loud. then i had another thought...
"waitaminit...is this a well or a SEWER! Oh CRAP!" and the pun was totally a propos and unintentional. i pulled myself up as one of the tenors was singing some italian aria in my ears. my foot and leg were covered with something wet and black. don't ask me what it was, because i refused to let myself ask that question. i didn't want to know.
i immediately walked over to my house, sprayed off my boots and my pantsleg, and thanked God for three things:
1. i still have reflexes that work
2. i didn't go in with both feet and no side support
3. that my mom wasn't helping me out and therefore it coulda been her.
whew.
so as i stripped and prepped the washer for my clothes, and the dryer for my boots (yeah, i'm headed back out there before my mom gets back to her house and explores the backyard), i thought to myself, "man, if i'd have fallen in, all i would've had was an ipod."
so...maybe they should build a distress beacon into ipods. if it happens, you heard it here first! (steve jobs, give a brotha some ends, man). that way, if an accident happens, you at least can have hope of being rescued. see, if i had gotten stuck today, the only thing i coulda done was scream for one of my neighbors to come rescue me.
i wonder if they would've come? and if they did, would they have said, "hmmm....promise you'll repaint in earthtones and preserve the subway tile in your bathroom and we'll pull you outta there..."
it's not beyond the realm of possibility. after all, this IS America.
my boots are dry and the sun is goin' down. see ya'll later.
