Adult Swim is over
File it under First World Problems: On Sunday, while climbing out of the swimming pool, I hit my shin. Hard. I fell back off the ladder and into the pool. I was in terrible pain. I was hopping around in the water with my arms flailing about, gracelessly; a one-man water ballet choreographed by a lunatic. I was the anti-Esther Williams. I was sucking back on my teeth, making that “Eeeee” sound, with an occasional “Ohhh” thrown in for good measure.
Side note: No one pays much attention to you in the water, even when you’re doing weird things. Unless you’re gasping for air, everyone pretty much gives you space. It was during Adult Swim, the few minutes the grown-ups have the pool to themselves. As long as you don’t splash the old ladies in the four-feet, you can do whatever the heck you want.
But I digress, like I do. Water break was over, and the kids were jumping in. I had to get out and get out fast. I was terrified one of those little buggers would collide into my shin bone in the middle of a rousing game of Marco Polo. I wouldn’t be able to blame them; their eyes would be closed.
P.S. I got really tired of hearing the words Marco and Polo as they were repeated ad infinitum, sometimes directly into my eardrum. But they were kids enjoying their final minutes of freedom before the school year started. You couldn’t blame them.
I was afraid to get out of the pool. I was in pain in a near-weightless environment, but once I got out, I’d be forced to deal with gravity. I knew it would hurt, and I was right! It was excruciating. I could see an indentation in my shin. I dented my shin. There was no black and blue mark, just pain and regret.
I had to use the stairs instead of the ladder as I limped past the lifeguards. I didn’t want to file an accident report. I literally and figuratively did not want to make waves.
I’ve been favoring my left leg all week. At work, I stood at the copier with one knee up, like a flamingo in business casual. I extended my left leg at the urinal as if I was potty-trained by a dog, instead of the other way around.
Every once in a while, I forget that I slammed my shin into a concrete wall – until I would turn a particular way and I was instantly reminded.
As the week progressed, the pain became less and less intense. Tuesday night, I even climbed out of the pool using the ladder.
A serious note: This week, I learned about the passing of one of my faithful readers. Washington County resident Harold V. Fergus, Jr. died this week. He read this column, and he read my theater reviews over at ‘Burgh Vivant. I know because he was always quick to lend his opinion when I was “too nice” to a production. Frankly, he knew more about theater than I did. He was also a terrific actor, and I was honored to work by his side on several seated readings for the Carnegie Screenwriters. I’ll save a chair for you, Fergie.