My secret talent? I’m not sure how many secret talents I have. I do have an uncanny knack for falling down stairs. It started at a very early age and has continued well into adulthood. I probably can’t remember the first few times I fell down the stairs, but I’m sure my family can tell you about it. I do recall a very special flight of stairs that I spent a lot of time falling down. We lived in mid-city San Diego in a two story duplex. Downstairs was the laundry room and storage shed and the apartment was on the second floor. The stairs themselves were made of concrete… and not rounded at the edges. I don’t really remember any specific times falling down those stairs, but I know it happened on several occasions. But hey, I was young. That may be where I was awarded this mystery scar on my chin.
When I was a teenager living in Michigan, the stairs were indoors and thankfully carpeted. The house was a two story A-Frame. The stairs were unique in that the slant of the roof coincided with the top landing of the staircase. Stairs in Michigan are narrow and apparently not held to any sort of uniform building code. If one were to attempt to run down the stairs without first ducking beneath the ceiling, it would knock the poor sap on his or her (her in this case) butt. Fortunately due to the layout of the top landing, one wouldn’t go very far before being mercifully stopped by a wall to prevent rolling to her doom at the bottom of the staircase. Regarding the narrowness of the stairs themselves: if I didn’t step carefully, the weight of my foot would land on the edge of the stair instead of square on the center (as would be the safe option). When that would happen, it would initiate a full on slide down the stairs, hitting my tail bone on the edge of each step until I came to rest at the bottom. This happened countless times. Apparently it never got old.
The same “stair slide” experience happened at Grandma’s house early one morning. This is where I come up with my theory about the lack of building code in Michigan. Also in Michigan, these stairs were smaller than the average foot and carpeted. At the bottom of the stairway is a door, much like the door at the bottom of the stairway in my old house (I’m noticing a pattern here—maybe it’s there to stop the fall?). This particular morning I was wearing pajamas and socks (adds to the slickness of the thinly carpeted stairs I guess) and proceeded to plant my foot on the edge of the stair. Thus the infamous “stair slide” was initiated. After thudding to a stop at the bottom, the door flew open with Grandpa on the other side wondering if I was okay. I was. Except my pride.
This reminds me. Moving staircases (aka escalators): a source of terror throughout my entire lifetime. Did you know those things can catch your heel or pant leg and pull you under? Or if you don’t step squarely on a stair (for example, if you step on the crack in between) you can fall to your death or be otherwise humiliated by the amused onlookers? I still, to this day, have trouble getting on and off escalators.
When I moved into my current house, I knew my days of falling down the stairs were far from over. Apparently this house was built without the California Building Code in mind, as the stairs are as narrow as the ones in Michigan. The difference is, these are not carpeted and there’s a magnificent furnace at the bottom to catch my fall. I may be the only adult I know that has to actually watch my feet as I go up and down stairs, which makes carrying objects up and down stairs a pain in the butt. I knew it was only a matter of time before I fell down these stairs. One morning I was carrying my blanket down the stairs to use in the living room. I had almost made it all the way down when I stepped on the edge of the blanket and lurched headfirst into the wall and furnace at the bottom of the staircase. I ended up with a toenail split down the middle and bruised fingers, but otherwise okay.
My most recent run-in with a staircase almost resulted in my death or me becoming a quadriplegic. You would think with my well known problems with stairs that I would be extra careful when I encountered them. Not so. After leaving the orthodontist the other day, I walked down the hall towards the elevator (much safer) only to find the elevator under construction. Being as I was on the second floor, I didn’t see how going down a flight of stairs could hurt. I also was reading a text message on my phone from a friend of mine… while walking down the stairs. Cement stairs. We’re talking emergency exit quality concrete stairs. I neared the landing at the bottom of the first half of the staircase. I don’t know if it was my lack of peripheral vision or what, but I completely missed the last two stairs and pitched headfirst toward the concrete wall. I twisted my ankle and slammed my shoulder into the wall before tumbling to the ground. Miraculously I did not drop my phone. Reeling in pain, I looked around to make sure no one saw, and then did another scan for a security camera before hobbling out to my car to recover.
Strangely enough, I do believe stairs may be the death of me someday, and you can read this at my funeral. It may not be as humorous as it is now (or maybe it will be?) but it’ll kindly explain my untimely death. What an embarrassing way to go…
I’m making a small half-hearted attempt to brush up on my writing skills. Maybe someday I’ll become a famous writer. Until then you get B class blogs from me, inspired by a few writing books I just picked up at Borders. Stay tuned for more exercises.
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