Thursday, June 22, 2000

What a weird day. First, I'm on the bus this morning, going down No. Harvard St. Looking out the window I notice someone who resembles my friend Mike, with blood running down the side of his face. "That's funny," I say to myself, "that looks like Mike down there with blood streaming down his face."

Mike was examinging the blood-covered palm of his hand, in classic horror-film style, when I came to my senses and pushed my way off of the bus. I'm not sure he was entirely pleased to see me; I think he was a little embarassed. There was already a guy from the fire department there, which quashed my dreams of valiantly running to a payphone to call am ambulance. He was a big, stocky guy, in his 30's probably, with a blonde crew cut. On his arm were tattood the names and birthdates of his children.

The fireman started firing questions at Mike, along the lines of "Do you feel cold? Are you hot? Can you feel your hands? Does your head hurt? Are you on medication?" Reluctantly, Mike explained that he is on medication, to treat his (mild) Tourette's syndrome. I was a little uncomfortable, too. I had an idea of what the fire dpt. guy was thinking: Mike, the skinny little punk kid, tooling down the road on his Schwinn 10-speed, when suddenly a freak spastic urge overtakes him and he crashes head-first into the pavement. In reality, Mike's just a perfectly average klutz (like myself.)

I could sense Mike's frustration as he tried to explain to the fire dpt. guy that his foot just "slipped," and I started to feel kind of awkward and out of place. Mike needed some backup, and asked me if I had seen him crash. I hadn't. The fire dpt. guy gave me a mini-lecture, in his best P.R. voice: "Any time something like this happens, you just pull one of those red boxes. It doesn't have to be a fire."

I sat there kind of stunned and concerned, until Mike asked me to chain his bike up for him. Soon it became obvious that there wasn't much else I could do in the way of help, so I gave him a pat on the shoulder and quietly excused myself. Walking down the street, I noticed two spots of blood on the back of my hand.

I apparently have less than $20 in my bank account (but who can say, really, since I haven't balanced my checkbook in over four years?) so I was looking forward to a quiet lunch of a bagel and cream cheese... eaten very, very slowly. My boss Manji insisted that I go to the pizza shop with her, and when I pointed out that I only had $4 on me, she forced me to borrow $5 from her. Then, half an hour later, she announced that she didn't want to walk that far, so we would go to the sub shop around the corner. Then in the same breath, she announced that she didn't want to eat at all and I should go someplace by myself. I was confused, but grateful to be left alone. I kept the $5, though, because I was starving.