I nearly got hit by an SUV crossing Dixon St., a Lexus, when one of those comedy voices in my head said, "SUV is Latin for Sublim Uni Venilstat, "One small Penis!" (no, I do not speak Latin, and I am sure those are nonsense words, but they sound Harry-Potterish Latin, don't they?). But that close call by some silk-encrusted dweeb with a cell phone, bling, and lack of eye contact was only the appetizer for the buffet of the evening that was to come.
I get off the Red line at Metro Center, and as I am passing the escalators and *THWACK* a young skinny bronze frame of a woman in a nice business suit and bad makeup makes a 180 and the stupid suitcase dolly-thing swings like a sweep kick from "Mortal Kombat" cracks into my foot. My bad foot. The one that got messed up back in February. My ankle gives way, more in instinct than acutal injury, and knocks me to the railing around the escalator.
"Ooops! Sorry," says Slim-Fast zombie girl, "I'm in a hurry!" She smiles at me in a way I am sure would have melted a normal guy in his 20s, but I am a sour older dude, and her smile is as transparent to me as using the US Flag in a political commercial claiming the incumbent supports sexual predators.
A thousand options go through my head. The collected vote is to say, "I'm okay," but she was already gone in the crowd, the sound of her dress heels clicking in the distance.
I was okay. I mean, my ankle hurt, but it would support my weight, so I got on the Orange Line, and got a good seat. And then the swelling began. It didn't hurt, and I figured I would be okay, and even took a 3 minute nap, but was broken by a barrage of pages because they were working on some server, and the monitoring was set to "OMFG!!! SERV4R DONW!!! WTF!!! AAAAUGGHHHH!!!!" mode, and literally paged me about once a minute for about 20 minutes until I called the NOC and told them to shut this alert off.
By the time I got in the car, my ankle was weak. I had been thought this before, when I first busted my foot back in Feb, it was fine, then hurt, then it was over by morning. But I had a party to go to.
I was at anyarm and fuzzywhuze's party, and thankfully they put me in a recliner to keep my foot up, but the pain was getting worse and worse, and I was out of my emergency Tylenol. I managed to do okay if my foot was up, but the swelling was getting so bad, it was molding my foot into every crevasse of my shoe.
And stodgycat was talking about torts (suing people), but what the hell was I supposed to do? If I sued everyone who ever hurt me, hell, even a quarter of them, I'd still be in litigation. Life is far too short for that kind of shit; save it for the REAL issues.
By the time I got home, my ankle was about the size of a grapefruit and hurt like it was being stabbed with a barbed ice pick. I bemoaned the fact I might have to get it looked at by a doctor, more missed work, more "I'm soooo injured" drama bullshit, and just general suckitude.
And I kept getting paged all night. All minor stuff, like half of it was because some customer in an unguarded colo accidentally yanked out a power cord on a switch, and then this started a see-saw of errors that took a complete reset. They stopped around 5am.
But this morning (10am) my ankle was fine. You wouldn't know it had swelled at all.
Oh, and I liked everyone I met at the party. :)