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Who would have thought that such a small thing could lead to such large problems.

Monday was a normal day, the first bit of normalacy for a few weeks. The alarm went off, I got up, walked to the bus, did a bit of fraud (prevention), had lunch, etc. Then the afternoon came. I decided on a little stroll, stretch the legs, maybe go to the book store and take a look, nothing special.

I stood, and started for the door, only to find my way blocked. Blocked by an R2D2 of a garbage can. No problem, I did a little hop and cleared it with no problem. Maybe I caught the edge of the can, but nothing big. Nothing big until Nick looked up.

Maybe he was working, who knows, but he looked up and said "so you cleared your jacket, eh?"

'Jacket?' I thought to myself. "I jumped over the trash can."

"No way." So I was forced to jump over it again. "Bet you can't do it backwards."

I set up to do just that, and then had an attack of brains and moved the can so that if I fell backwards there would be less chance of my skull becoming dented on a desk or on the frogs. And I set up, and looked backward, and cleared easily. The landing was a big awkward, sort of what you would expect from a large bird, a gooney bird perhaps, that was not used to navigating that difficult interface between air and land.

Somehow that wasn't enough. It wasn't enough and another can was presented. This was not your father's can. This was too much can. Too much, but what can one do in the face of peer pressure? Cave in like a worm, or stand up to the challenge.

Well I stood. I stood for a bit. I knew that I would not clear the can, but I had a plan. I would jump up, then at the very top of my arc I would gently tap the top of the can, providing just that touch of momentum to allow me to gently return back to where I started, accompanied by the cheers of my awestruck coworkers.

How about another poll?
If you think that is a reasonable plan, email WhatAStud@journalsonline.com
If you think that is a pretty dumb idea, then email YouDumbAss@journalsonline.com (I suspect that I will need to reuse that address in future polls).

I made a little hop, to allow my knees to fully compress, then I shot up, up, I was flying, I could not believe it! I was so cool, so powerful, so graceful. YES! The old fat man has still got it!

I reached the top of my flight, the part during the space launches when mission control gets up to get a cup of coffee, and I had the height, I was all over this jump. I extended my legs, really just the slightest tap, and then things, excuse the pun, took a downward turn.

The can collapsed, and I went with it, catching my left testicle on the rim of the can. This was not what I had in mind. There was a general outpouring of concern and laughter.

I might be imagining the concern, but the laughter was real.

After the excitement subsided, Jonathon's offered the best response. "Am I the only one who saw that coming from a mile away?"

It took a minute, but I was mostly fine, a dull ache on the left side, but nothing you don't expect from a day in San Francisco. Nick took a look at the dented trash can. "If this didn't have stuff in it, you could just kick out the dent from the inside."

Impulsively I gave it a good kick, on the outside. Not out of any thought that this might fix the dent, just a general feeling that any time you have a chance to kick something that you should take it.

This kicking had the intended effect, in that I felt better about myself, and I garnered a clear sense of personal identity from an act of random violence against a non-sentient object, but there was the additional unintended consequence that strange liquid from the can flew all over, splatting me in the face.

Why do I do these things? I'm thinking sheer stupid exuberant energy, coupled with a desire for attention. Probably something to do with not being held enough as a baby, or being held too much, or maybe it's just because the connection between the 'thinking' part of my brain and the 'doing' part of my brain is a little loose.

Nick had a pile of T-Shirts on his chair, so I used one to mop up the excess trash bile from my face, and then went to 'A Clean Well Lighted Place For Books' and bought New Jack: Guarding Sing Sing by Ted Conover.

When I got back from the bookstore, before I even sat down, I was informed that Tony had jumped over the can. Clean. I said 'shit' and started taking things out of my pockets to lighten my load. I moved the can into the clear space (look ma, not as many shoes) and bent down to tie my shoes.

I became aware of Lisa saying "No Richard, don't do it." I figured that I had a 50-50 chance of making it, and about the same odds of getting hurt. Not a great deal, But I didn't have a choice. I didn't respond, just worked on my right shoelace. Someone said 'look, he's taking off his shoes,' and then Lisa took action. She stood, walked over, and removed the can and put it back where it belonged.

I stood, nodded once, grabbed my phone and keys, and sat down. Relieved.

Lisa, wherever you are, Thank you.

As I sat down, I noticed a blue t-shirt on my chair. Nick had decided on a policy of 'you wipe crap up with a shirt, then it is your shirt.' I was happy. Sure there was a little pain, and humiliation, but I got another cool Zappos T-Shirt, so it was pretty much worth it.

As I left work, John Farhner advised me to 'ice everything.' Here is a man who looks like he's taken it in the nuts a time or two and has wisdom worth considering.