When I was 13 years old I broke my arm running from the law.
Well, sort of. At the time there was a new condo development being built in my town and one Sunday my friends and I decided to explore the construction site. We were on the 2nd floor of the building and I was looking out what would be a window (when windows were put into place) and I saw a police car turn the corner. Now the officer in the car had no way of seeing me and I'm sure he was just driving down the street randomly, but with my cool criminal mind I was convinced that the cops were on to me and so I cleverly ran towards the back of the building and jumped from the 2nd story balcony to escape the law. I broke my arm in the fall.
So I spent the entire summer with a cast on my arm. My friends played baseball, went swimming, and strangely played a TON of miniature golf, as I watched for 8 weeks with my arm in a cast. It was, I don't have to tell you, a fairly miserable summer.
The day finally arrived that I was to get my cast off. It was mid August-just in time for the back-to-school flyers and shopping for a new plaid tie. I went to the hospital with my mother and my cousin Neil, who was one year older than me and who I watched enjoying summer fun all through June and July, secretly wishing he'd be hit by a car or something. Not bad enough to hurt him any more than I was hurt, you understand. Just bad enough to have him sitting in a cast next to me.
The doctor sawed through my cast and it split in two, falling to the floor. The odor of two months of bottled up summer sweat and dirt overpowered the room and my doctor nearly passed out. My arm was pale and scrawny (well, scrawnier), but it was free. I was emancipated from my plaster shackle!
I practically skipped back to my mother's car and she suggested that we all go play mini golf on the way home as a way of celebration. I had missed out on so much summer fun that the idea of mini golf with my mom and my all-too-healthy cousin actually sounded like fun. In fact, I insisted on teeing off first (is it still called teeing off in mini golf? I don't know, let's say it is).
I put the ball down on the rubber tee and stared at the windmill that stood between me and my goal. I raised the club back behind me and SMACKED the ball way harder than I should have (I didn't know my own two-armed strength). The ball ricocheted off the top of the windmill and sailed across the entire mini golf course, over everyone's head. Miraculously it fell DIRECTLY in the 11th hole! A hold in one! Sort of.
A round of applause broke out for me as I ran to get my ball. Slightly embarrassed, but still impressed with my own newfound mini golf ability, I waived at the crowd as I ran across the course. As I was waiving, however, I tripped over the windmill. It seemed to happen in slow motion: I fell forward. My mother yelled "NOOOO!!!" And I landed on the very arm that had just been freed of the cast. I heard a crack and the pain went shooting up into my shoulder.
We went directly back to the hospital. The nurse who had JUST checked me out an hour or so ago looked at us and said "Did you forget something?"
I was in a cast for 6 more weeks.
Well, sort of. At the time there was a new condo development being built in my town and one Sunday my friends and I decided to explore the construction site. We were on the 2nd floor of the building and I was looking out what would be a window (when windows were put into place) and I saw a police car turn the corner. Now the officer in the car had no way of seeing me and I'm sure he was just driving down the street randomly, but with my cool criminal mind I was convinced that the cops were on to me and so I cleverly ran towards the back of the building and jumped from the 2nd story balcony to escape the law. I broke my arm in the fall.
So I spent the entire summer with a cast on my arm. My friends played baseball, went swimming, and strangely played a TON of miniature golf, as I watched for 8 weeks with my arm in a cast. It was, I don't have to tell you, a fairly miserable summer.
The day finally arrived that I was to get my cast off. It was mid August-just in time for the back-to-school flyers and shopping for a new plaid tie. I went to the hospital with my mother and my cousin Neil, who was one year older than me and who I watched enjoying summer fun all through June and July, secretly wishing he'd be hit by a car or something. Not bad enough to hurt him any more than I was hurt, you understand. Just bad enough to have him sitting in a cast next to me.
The doctor sawed through my cast and it split in two, falling to the floor. The odor of two months of bottled up summer sweat and dirt overpowered the room and my doctor nearly passed out. My arm was pale and scrawny (well, scrawnier), but it was free. I was emancipated from my plaster shackle!
I practically skipped back to my mother's car and she suggested that we all go play mini golf on the way home as a way of celebration. I had missed out on so much summer fun that the idea of mini golf with my mom and my all-too-healthy cousin actually sounded like fun. In fact, I insisted on teeing off first (is it still called teeing off in mini golf? I don't know, let's say it is).
I put the ball down on the rubber tee and stared at the windmill that stood between me and my goal. I raised the club back behind me and SMACKED the ball way harder than I should have (I didn't know my own two-armed strength). The ball ricocheted off the top of the windmill and sailed across the entire mini golf course, over everyone's head. Miraculously it fell DIRECTLY in the 11th hole! A hold in one! Sort of.
A round of applause broke out for me as I ran to get my ball. Slightly embarrassed, but still impressed with my own newfound mini golf ability, I waived at the crowd as I ran across the course. As I was waiving, however, I tripped over the windmill. It seemed to happen in slow motion: I fell forward. My mother yelled "NOOOO!!!" And I landed on the very arm that had just been freed of the cast. I heard a crack and the pain went shooting up into my shoulder.
We went directly back to the hospital. The nurse who had JUST checked me out an hour or so ago looked at us and said "Did you forget something?"
I was in a cast for 6 more weeks.
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I'm sure we'll no longer be friends after this, but I fucking hate the Yankees. And Derek Jeter makes me want to gnash my teeth.