Alright, enough tautology, pleonasm and circumlocution.
It’s time for me to put digits to keys and tell the world a tale of glass smashing and LOLz, a story that will make you laugh, that will make you cry, but that most of all, will make you thankful you aren’t Morley Abbot.
It was some time after 1:00 AM and before 2:00 AM when it all went wrong.
A quality night out with the Lads took a sudden and unexpected turn. Rarely is the decision to hit the dance floor a good one but in this case it was particularly ill-advised. As foot met glass, I knew I was in trouble. I glanced down to assess the damage and it was immediately clear this would not be a quick fix but I said to myself, I’ll be damned if I'm gonna let shards of glass mess up my Sunday. I removed a three inch piece of night-ruiner from my foot and attempted to dance it off.
The prolonged toe-tapping just made things worse. The wound would require further attention and unlike so many of life’s problems, this wasn’t going to be solved with erratic arm waving and unnecessary groin thrusts. I left the dance floor and began to make my way out of the establishment. At the advice of an experienced glass stomper, it was decided that a hospital visit may be in order.
As I sat outside on a bar stool, hemorrhaging on to the side walk, while confused bar patrons looked on, I found myself beginning to feel shame- a shame that was in no way reduced when the ambulance pulled up, sirens on and lights flashing. Any hope I had of making a low profile exit had been thwarted.
As they loaded me into the back of the ambulance, I could see the unfortunate flash of cameras going off. Because this was my first time being on a stretcher, or in an ambulance, I was not entirely sure what the protocol was. I gave the crowd a reassuring smile and thumbs up just to let them know, Dale is gonna be ok. As the ambulance doors closed shut, I witnessed a couple of the lads in a heated exchange with some onlookers that had attempted to snap their own photos. That’s what friends are for.
- Ambulance attendant: “Could I have your name please?”
- Me: “LaDale”
- Ambulance attendant: “Your real name please…”
- Me: “Morley Abbott”
- Ambulance attendant: “Your address, Morley…”
- Me: “Darby”
- Ambulance attendant: “Where on, Darby?”
- Me: “Hmmm”
It went back and forth like this for quite some time. The ambulance attendant was actually a quality individual and certainly a fan of LOLs. We joked back and forth about the hilarity of the situation. He laughed at the decision someone had made to wrap cotton around the wound and indicated that it actually made things much worse. After about a ten minute drive, we arrived at the hospital. Still feeling significant indignity over the situation, I refused to be carried in on the stretcher and instead hobbled my way in the front door.
Looking back, it’s strange that the situation was so urgent that I needed to be sped off in an ambulance yet the three hour stay in the hospital waiting room was just part of the process. I issued myself a wheel chair and passed the time conferencing with some of my fellow hospital patrons. Interestingly enough, there were three other people that had stepped on glass waiting to speak to a doctor. We compared stories, laughed at ourselves, and developed a union that would last a life time, had I been able to remember any of their names.
My cell phone had died earlier in the night so I wasn’t able to entertain myself that way. Instead, I used a hospital phone to make calls to numbers I could remember off the top of my head which included calls to Schwartz, Yeamax, White Ron, Foster and home. You’re welcome, everyone.
Eventually my name was called (I want to say it was Morley they called for but I really can’t recall.) I was taken in for an x-ray by a rather attractive young rocket and passed the time making her feel fairly uncomfortable. From there, I was taken to a hospital bed and told to wait for the Doctor to see me. I fell asleep in the hospital bed and unsurprisingly, woke up in a confused state when Doogie arrived. He examined the wound, told me there was no glass (I think?) and then gave me some fairly specific details about what I should do to look after the injury. Unfortunately due to my somewhat intoxicated, entirely disoriented state, I was unable to retain any of the information shared.
“You’re free to go”, he said and left the room.
And with that, my long weekend and the last night of summer had come to an unspectacular end. I cabbed home and arrived at my front door just as the sun was coming up.
This morning, I hobbled on to the bus to work and was greeted by a somewhat familiar face. Glancing down at her foot, I could see a bandage and that’s when it hit me- this was one of my fellow glass-stompers from Sunday. We gave each other an awkward yet knowing glance and a polite nod.
A bond like that lasts a lifetime.