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February 20, 2005
My Head
I didn't really know what to say when I went in to the office. I really hadn't thought about it since Saturday. I hadn't thought about what to say. What my plan of attack would be.
Then they asked. It was the cute one first. "Oh my god! What happened to your head?"
The statement startled me at first. What did happen to my head? I reached up to feel my head. If I didn't know right away what was wrong with my head feeling it would let me know.
The second I touched the left side of my head I realized what she was talking about. It felt like I stabbed myself in the head with each one of my fingers. I was feeling the red, raw part of my head. Where I landed Friday night.
Ahh! Ouch.
"This?" Of course she's talking about this dumbass. Your ear is over an inch thick. It's got a huge open wound across it. A fucking scab that goes up across your thick, stupid head. "Umm. I fell down an elevator shaft."
"What?"
"Yeah. I was going through this contstruction site with my friend and ..."
"That was stupid."
"It only seems that way now. We do it all the time. It's just this time I thought he was telling me to go into this room, because he had already been in there, and there was no floor. I just fell and landed on my head."
"Well, That was stupid if you ask me."
"Like I said, it seems that way now."
Shit. I've got to refine my story. They'll all think I'm a moron if they think I just fell into a hole. Why the hell hadn't I prepared.
"Woah. Dude. What happened to your head?"
It was the guy on the other side of the cubicle wall. Sort of a self absorbed guy I never really liked. He thought he discovered Elliott Smith and told the whole office he sounded just like a mix between Nick Drake and Superchunk - "Kind of a guy with his guitar stuff, but he plays it like Superchunk." The guy that was upset he was the only one dressed as Luke Skywalker in line for the fourth Star Wars movie.
"Miscommunication. I thought my friend told me to go into a room, but he was only telling me to look into it."
"I hope you kicked his ass."
"I was sort of in pain."
"Yeah. I guess. I would have kicked his ass anyway."
"Yeah, if you could move that fast, fat ass."
"What?"
"I said, 'It wasn't his fault, though.'"
"Still, man. I would have kicked his ass."
But they didn't understand. It;'s hard to describe to them exactly what happened - My brother came into town. He was in the Navy and lived on the coast -- I guess that's where they keep the submarines -- and I lived in Chicago --no submarines there. And we went out. My brother, my roomate and I. Maybe more. I don't remember anymore. We had a few drinks and then went out to the north side. We walked from the Belmont stop on the red line to Wrigley Field. We were going to give him a tour of the city.
But we still wanted to go through the building site. That is what we did. We went through building sites and abandoned warehouses. This was nothing new. And it's not as dangerous as your parents would have you believe.
My roommate ran through a building and came out. "Come on in here. This is awesome."
I followed him into the building. Just inside he pointed to a room over my left shoulder. "Look in there."
He sounded excited about it. I looked, but didn't see anything. I figured he had been in the room earlier and there was soemthing in there I wasn't seeing, so I stepped in.
I stepped.
There was nothing under my foot. Oh, it's one of those dropped dens or something.
There's still nothing under my foot.
It must be a whole step down.
Wow. It's a big step down.
Oh. Shit.
I'm falling.
I don't think my feet are touching anything.
It was pitch black. I was falling. I didn't know how far. Time stretched. Time accomidated my short fall. It stretched and turned the seconds into minutes. I was falling and it was nice. That weightless feeling. That loss of equilibrium falling in the dark. That confusion. Yes. The confusion. That was a big part of it all.
Confusion. What is happening? Am I falling? I can't tell.
I must be. But how far?
Then I was on the ground.
Gravel. Dirt. Stones. Little pieces of that jagged cement to the side of fresh cement work. It was all under my hands as I pried myself off the ground seconds (minutes?) later.
What happened?
"Brian! Are you OK?"
"What?"
"Brian?"
"Yeah. I'm OK."
I stood up and looked. In the dim light I saw as I turned, my friend was standing in the doorway. The doorway 9 or 10 feet up. "What the hell happened?"
"I think I fell."
"No shit. But how?"
"You said to go in here."
"I said to look. To look at the fucking hole."
I reached up. Up to grab the floor of the level I had just fallen from. I was nowhere near reaching it. He lowered his hand and we still didn't touch. I felt around in the dark for soemthing I could move closer to the opening. Something I could climb up on to get out.
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah. I guess. There's nothing wrong. It just stings a little." I felt my head.
I meant to feel my head, but instead ground pieces of gravel and small bits of dirt stuck to my hand into the open woud on the side of my head. Ouch. I pulled my hand from my head and held it in the nearest bit of light. I was looking for blood. If it was darker on my finger tips it was blood.
It was blood.
"I think I'm bleeding."
"Shit. -- Guys. Come here. We need help."
"No. I'm OK. I'm just bleeding a little."
I looked around more. I felt the ground in the dim light until I reached a large wooden plank. I leaned it up against the wall and climbed up it. My friend at the top helped me over. "Shit. That's pretty fucked up."
"It's nothing."
"Woah. Brian. You're bleeding all over."
"Yeah. I guess we should head home." I was beginning to notice the blood trickling down my neck, under my shirt.
"Doesn't that hurt?"
For some reason it didn't. I know I didn't have more than 2 drinks. Maybe it's the adrenaline? "Not really."
"Well, it's bleeding a lot."
I grabbed a piece of newspaper that the Windy City blew up to my leg. A pieve of newspaper that took refuge from the dirty sidewalks by grabbing and wrapping itself around my leg. I put it to my head and wiped off the blood. I held it there in hopes it would soak up some of the blood. "Hey. Let's go to that Dunkin' Donuts on the corner of Belmont and Clark. Those assholes never let me use their bathroom. I'm going to get them to do it now."
We walked down to the Dunkin' Donuts and I ran in frantically. My brotehr, my friends, they waited outside with a video camera. "I need to use your bathroom."
"Sir, you are bleeding everywhere."
"The cops. They sent me down here. They told me to use the bathroom here. To clean up."
"What?"
"I was just going to my car. Someone hit me on the head and took it. They drove off with my fucking car. My car. They took it. I called the cops and they told me to wash up here. It happend over on the other block -- shit. I don't know the name. My fucking head -- they told me I should use this bathroom. They told me you'd let me use you bathroom."
"Go, sir. Please. Use the bathroom."
I made sure to get only a little blood on the counter and the door on the way to the bathroom. Inside I cleaned up and laughed to myself how I had finally gotten the Dunkin' Donuts to let me use their bathroom.
Posted by calculatoronfire at February 20, 2005 03:23 PM
Comments
you're just making this shit up, aren't you? well, either way, great story.
oh and btw, just so we're clear, *I* discovered elliott smith, not that office guy, k?
cough.
Posted by: sweetney at February 20, 2005 04:38 PM
Sweetney,
I promise it is true. I was there video taping the whole thing. The bums in the dunkin donuts got all excited and ran to the phones to call the cops. We soothed his head with some some MD20/20.
All my navy friends loved when he came to visit they couldn't believe the crazy things he did.
Posted by: Nick at February 20, 2005 10:24 PM
I already had a heatmiser album and a couple elliott smith albums when the office guy was talking about the superchunk - elliot smith relationship.
I'm sure this was way after you discovered him, and I'd tell office guy if I ever saw him anymore. If I even remembered his name... All I remember ever calling him was the annoying guy in the next cubicle. Oh, and sometimes "that asshole."
Thanks for getting my back on this one, Nick. Some time I might figure out a way to transfer some of that video to a digital format.
Watch the blood flow.
Posted by: brian at February 21, 2005 02:42 PM