Weird In The Afternoon
Late last November, when the yuletide spirit was just beginning to slither over the far horizon, not yet noticeable enough to change anyone’s basic surly attitude but still making its presence felt, subliminally, via the piney green crowding the peripheral vision of hapless shoppers in department stores and the swift but deadly assault of the occasional Mr. Microphone commercial over the airwaves, I had the occasion, the extremely stupid painful opportunity, to drop a Christmas tree on my foot.
Weird In The Afternoon
Prime Time
by
Richard C. Walls
Late last November, when the yuletide spirit was just beginning to slither over the far horizon, not yet noticeable enough to change anyone’s basic surly attitude but still making its presence felt, subliminally, via the piney green crowding the peripheral vision of hapless shoppers in department stores and the swift but deadly assault of the occasional Mr. Microphone commercial over the airwaves, I had the occasion, the extremely stupid painful opportunity, to drop a Christmas tree on my foot. The details are fuzzy and mundane, the * immediate pain and subsequent embarrassrrient having overwhelmed my memory, but the tree was dropped, the foot was broke, andlspentthe following week in the hospital.
I wasn’t there of necessity, of course. I didn’t need a week’s worth of attention and in a more organized society 1 would have suffered comfortably at home. But having gone to the hospital for help I had to wait three days before the foot was properly examined and then three more days before the results were in, at which point I was quickly sent home with the priceless advice that I “stay off the foot for awhile.”