I have heard from more than one person that my mother raised a very well mannered young man and that she should be proud of how I have grown up. They’re probably all right in saying that, I do have impeccable table
Is that a Rubiks cube?
manners, I hold doors open for ladies and can hold quite good conversations with different types of people – at least during my sober hours, I do tend to become a very personal broken record on most Friday nights.
There is one thing that never stuck, though, even though I have tried my best, I cannot overcome finding other people’s misfortune funny. Calm down, I’m not sadistic and really do have empathy for most people and I’m even thinking about sponsoring a Somalian kid – what’s $10 a month to me anyway.
The types of things I’m talking about are the cellphones falling into swimming pools, unibrows, British teeth, and my favourite for 2009 – cankles in heels (look out for my upcoming photo gallery).
However, there is one thing that stands the test of time – people falling. It’s comedy in it’s purest form, simple, spontaneous and always unexpected. I can remember literally dozens throughout my life. One of my favourites was the smug geek (the worst kind) at my school going up to the front of the auditorium to receive what was probably his tenth award for the year. A barrel roll down a few steps just before he got there took the smile off his face, and left me with a memory for life.
You’ve seen the curb and carpet trips, always different but with one thing in common, the victim always tries to play it off as if nothing has happened. A quick spin around and walking back out the door, or dropping something ten seconds too late and pretending to pick it up. It might make them feel better, but everyone knows better.
My personal story had all of the typical elements, and then some. I was in my early twenties, full of arrogance and simulated confidence – with a shiny Kawasaki motorbike that you could hear from three blocks away.
I was also really proud that in my small group of friends I was the only one to still have an unscathed paint job, not so much as a mirror scrape. Until of course, I performed the simplest of manoeuvres. A group of us arrived back at the house where we started our run and for some reason I decided to turn into a driveway over the road, do a u-turn and rejoin the pack.
Now imagine, full leathers, designer helmet and a freshly polished bike – all doing a u-turn on a gravel driveway. And that was it, my first and only biking accident, at walking speed. Something strange happens at those speeds, gravity increases and reactions disappear. So before I could even react I was pinned between a thousand sharp stones and a 200kg (freshly scratched) racing machine.
My visor was also down, which didn’t help my cause, because if you have ever worn a helmet you will know that they fog up very quickly once the airflow from movement stops.
So there I was, lying on the ground trying to blindly lift way more than my bodyweight off me while shouting at the top of my voice (conveniently muffled by the foam surrounding my chin). Sometimes there is no playing it off, especially when the will to survive overcomes the ego.
Humbling? Maybe. Did it stop my enjoyment of the same thing happening to others? No. Categorically no.