I considered myself lucky at first, having found a parking space at Price Chopper so close to the front doors.
As I opened my Jeep door I noticed I had parked in a giant puddle. Actually it was more like a small pond. No wonder the space was vacant but I had a Jeep so the wet didn’t factor in to where I parked.
Glancing across the pond I estimated it was about three feet to dry land. I could make it.
With one foot on the door step, and the other in about six inches of water I carefully slammed the door shut. I then pushed off from the door step and at the same time pushed off from the wet ground, attempting to clear the puddle.
I heard the noise first. It sounded like snapping a leather belt after its been folded. Then I saw darkness, followed my immediate white light. Then I felt pain.
The pain was unlike anything I had experienced in my lifetime. It began at my left ankle and shot up my leg, settling about mid thigh.
Without a thought about the wet ground I collapsed to my butt, my two hands behind me under water.
As soon as I sat down the pain seemed to amplify. My head began to throb and I instantly felt nauseous. I turned to my side and vomited in the parking lot.
I then felt a hand on my back. I turned my head and saw an elderly gentleman standing above me.
“Take it easy,” he said. “I saw the whole thing.”
“I think it’s broken,” I said, referring to my ankle, which I had obviously messed up. Messed up bad.
“I’d say so,” the man said. “That didn’t sound pretty.”
He had obviously heard that belt leather snap. Was it a bone?
I glanced around the parking lot. A few other people were pretending not to watch, but it was obvious they were. I was just thankful no one was coming up to me. Not that I was embarrassed. I was in to much pain to be embarrassed.
I limped back to my Jeep, through the puddle, while the kind old man kept his hand on my elbow. Not that it would have helped if I fell over but it’s the thought that counts.
Like an idiot, before I got back in my Jeep I decided to see how bad my ankle was. I tried to put a little pressure on it. The pain was instant. White light. Sharp pain.
I knew, because I drove a standard vehicle, there was no way I could make it home. I called my father and explained what happened.
As I waited in the parking lot I made small talk with the old man who never left my side. We joked that I should sue Price Chopper for not properly maintaining their parking lots but I’m the one who tried to pull a Jesus and walk on water.
I watched my dad pull up shaking his head. The old man wished me luck and I carefully got into dad’s car.
Going home and icing the ankle was not an option for me. This pain was unfamiliar and awful. An icepack was not gonna cut it. We drove to the ER.
An hour later I sat in a hospital room, full of painkillers as a doctor, while holding an X-ray of my ankle, explained to me that I’d fractured (broken) my ankle around an area he called “the medial malleolus”.
The doc fixed me with a splint and, when the swelling goes down in a few days, I will be fitted with a fiberglass cast, which I must wear for 4-6 weeks.
All of this pain and misery for a close parking space at the grocery store.
…………………………………………….
editors note: The above story is “based” on actual events, though some “minor details” have been changed for the sake of drama.
For example: I may not have broken my ankle, or even sprained it for that matter, but I did go to Price Chopper today…or did I?
I love the music of Michael Jackson and for that reason I was saddened to learn of his death today.
Simply put, The Hangover is a crude, crass comedy that manages to be smart at the same time – oh, and funny as hell.
I said goodbye to a dear friend today.
Big Daddy Gouda 