I tore the meniscus in my knee. Fancy assed way of saying "cartilage". I have a brace on my right knee that looks more like a corset from the 1800's. It squeezes the fat on either end of my leg, making my right leg look more like Jessica Rabbit. In truth? I look deformed.
Now, I am a nurse. I have abounding compassion for all people. I live in Florida where old folks run the show. I do all I can to be patient *read: tolerant* of their ways because, hell, one day we are all going to be there, right?
I'm walking into work today. No, wait. I am hobbling into work today when I encounter the demon of all senior citizens. She is coming out of the door I am seeking access to. We are at an impasse. I can't move backwards out of the way fast enough for the old timer. She is moving at the speed of light to get out to an early bird special. You know, 2 pancakes, 2 eggs, 2 strips of bacon...two dollars at Big Bubba's Early Mornin' Cafe.
"EXCUSE ME," she barks at me.
"I would like to, Ma'am, but I have a knee injury and moving backwards is not part of the dance steps I have learned to master." I say this with a big, jovial smile on my face, being friendly. That's just me. *bats lashes*
"I SAID EXCUSE ME," the grey haired darling snarled.
"Ma'am, if you could just let me IN, I would be happy to hold the door to let you OUT. How's that sound to you?"
"SOUNDS LIKE YOU NEED TO GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY, FATASS!"
'Scuse me? Perhaps she has Tourette's or Alzheimers. I will proceed with compassion, concern and care...the three "C's" of nursing.
"I'm sorry, Dear. I don't think I heard you correctly," Florence Nightingale answers in a sing song voice a la Snow White. "I said, let me just come into the doorway, seeing as I am halfway through it as it is, and I will be happy to hold the door for..."
"I HEARD YA, NURSIE! WHADDYA THINK I AM??? DEAF??? ARE YOU? MOVE THE HELL OUT OF THE DOORWAY, FATASS."
I am looking around for the camera. Any moment, I will see Ashton Kutcher run out from behind some bushes. I have to be getting Punk'd right now. There can be no other reason for this.
"NOW MOVE IT OR LOSE IT, QUEENIE."
With that, the gentle flower shoved her 85 pound body at the glass door. It was enough to knock me on my...well, fat ass. I hit the ground like a ton of bricks, my poor deformed Jessica Rabbit leg in the air. I am flailing about like a turtle flipped onto the back of its shell. I am certain this is the most humiliating moment of my life...until...
"DON'T MESS WITH A SENIOR, MISSY," she barked at me and proceeded to walk past me like I was two tons of trash on the sidewalk.
Correction. NOW it is the most humiliating experience of my life.
It is now that one of my colleagues, K., is getting out of her car and sees me on the ground, stupified.
"Are you okay, CP," she asks, "What happened?"
"I tripped," I said, trying to maintain some dignity.
"Holy crap," she said, extending a hand to help me up. "That little old lady that just walked past me told me that someone at the front door needed help. I didn't know it was you! I figured it was just another old person taking a nose dive."
And as I am bringing myself into an upright position, I see a huge ass Lincoln Town Car drive past me, windows down...with the little old wench driving by, waving her gnarled little hand at me.
I could swear she was laughing. Bet she has a real fine story to tell the old cronies over at Big Bubba's Early Morning Cafe.