I Bit It

As I entered the train station at 2^nd & Market, I could hear my train approaching.  I knew I could just make it if I made a run for it.  I ran down the flight of stairs and sprinted toward the turnstiles, ticket in-hand. Then, I saw the glisten of the freshly mopped, blue tile floor about two seconds too late.  Thanks to the insufficient traction on my commuting flats, I was suddenly on my butt speedily sliding toward the giant silver turnstiles. My knee and shin bones quickly met the hard metal with a loud thud.  

At first, I thought I broke my leg—or knee.  A woman coming through the turnstile in the opposite direction next to me stood there, looked down at me for about five seconds, and then kept walking without saying a word.  Thank you for your concern, no, I’m fine!  At that point, I might have still been able to hobble onto the train but one, my leg was in a lot of pain and two, I was really embarrassed.  I had fleeting thoughts of people saying “that was the worst fall I’ve ever seen!” or just laughing at me until I cried. Plus, I’m like a toddler in that whenever I hurt myself, I can hold myself together until someone asks if I’m ok.  I decided to avoid humiliation and wait for the next train

I swiped my pass and limped over to the bench, trying to force back tears. I got on the next train and sat down in an open seat next to the control panel.  After a few minutes, I smelled something burning.  One of the train conductors walked over, opened up the panel and said into her walkie-talkie, “Uh oh, the inserters are all burnt out.  Get on the loud speaker and tell the passengers that I need to fix these before we get moving.” Icing. Gravy.

Somehow my train made it to 69^th street on time, and I was able to limp-run to my transfer. Right now, I’m sitting at my desk watching my leg swell. This is going to be an awesome day.