Last week, I fell flat on my face in front of The Winona Times office. It would not be fair to make excuses – I just got tangled in my own feet and fell. Flop!
I am sure motorists passing on Summit Street and customers at Renasant Bank got an eyeful as I lay on the sidewalk, trying to figure out how to get up. I wasn’t hurt much – just my pride. I did get a good chuckle out of my misfortune. (Got to laugh to keep from crying, I guess).
It’s all in a day’s work for me. Write stories, check. Review e-mail, check. Make a complete and utter fool of myself, check, check.
On average, I fall in a public place at least once a month. I am famous for falling up flights of stairs.
A few years ago (and I will change the names to protect the innocent), I was to meet with a powerful executive at his office to discuss possible sponsorship opportunities for a non-profit. His office was on the second floor, and a long spiral staircase connected the lobby to his office. Mr. Powerful Executive descended the stairs to greet me, and the two of us walked up together.
Nearing the top, the heel of my sandal hung up on a step. I fell backward, twisted in mid-air and landed on my hands and knees on the landing. My shoes flew off my feet, over the banister, and to the first floor. Mr. Powerful Executive was forced to jog down to the bottom floor and fetch them.
After the enormous spectacle I created, I still had to deliver my presentation. He agreed to the sponsorship, but I have a feeling he feared a lawsuit. (For my own stupidity, I will save the court some time!) Thankfully, I have never seen Mr. Powerful Executive again.
I also am quite often the damsel in distress. Once while working at my desk (not in Winona, mind you) my rolling chair rolled right out from under me. I landed under my desk in that hole where your legs go. The chair bounced off the wall and somehow wedged underneath the desk – trapping me. I just kind of sat there for a while hoping to die, but after a few minutes, I realized I needed help to get out of this predicament.
“Excuse me, can someone help me out? I seem to be stuck here,” a small voice called over the patricians of the cubicles. Finally someone came to my aid, but it still took several minutes to get me out after he gathered all of our co-workers to “look what Amanda’s done now.”
I am sure the University of Mississippi is dying for me to come back and head up the school’s ambassador program after my debacle in front of an entire group of in-coming freshmen.
My senior year, I was taking Southern Arts and Antiques during the summer session, and we met in the old Chemistry building on the circle. While walking to class, I managed to fall out on the front steps of the building just as a bus load of orientation kids were passing. The bus stopped. I don’t get up. I just laid there shaking – from laughter. I literally had fallen and couldn’t get up!
So you see, my little accident the other day in front of my office was nothing -- just a little quirk in my every day life.
Graceful is not a word that would describe me. Case in point, in sixth grade, I broke my ankle while walking down a hill. Yep, I lost my balance and ended up rolling down the hill. I was in a cast for six weeks.
In high school, my parents sent me to Charm School to smooth out the edges. They hoped I would eventually out grow my awkwardness, but alas, no. In college, I was as uncoordinated as ever.
During a candlelight ceremony during sorority rush (I was a rusher by this point not a rushee) I accidently set the front of my dress on fire. Polyester crepe. Went up like a torch. I almost stopped, dropped and rolled. Luckily, my roommate put me out before I ended up in the burn unit.
I heard girls talking about “that girl who caught on fire” until I graduated.
So when you see me around town, and I accidently knock over a display at the grocery store or ram you with my basket at Wal-Mart. I mean no harm. I am simply trying to make it through the day without eating pavement.
You see, God has a sense of humor. If he didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.