First he was smiling. Then falling.
If his pelvis had been a shovel, the heave of dirt would have landed on me. I had just pressed the rectangle of the angry red “stop” button with my knuckle. My water bottle, mobile phone, and balled-up borrowed towel waited in the recesses of the treadmill to the left and right of the console.
His cell phone started it all. He stepped on the adjacent machine. From the peripheral view, he looked like Alex, a guy I knew in high school who later went in the Army and lost lots of weight. He was a sandy blond with close-cropped hair. About 6 foot tall and barrel-chested.
He started his workout routine, then within about 15 seconds, the phone dropped like a lead zeppelin (mind you, he wasn’t on the stair-stepper to heaven) and flew off the back of the treadmill, looking like a small, sailing gray claymore mine before the steel balls explode out of it.
Thunk, whirr.
I turned at the sound, and our eyes collided. His were an electrocuted blue. Still, he smiled.
Perhaps that was his biggest mistake.
He hit hard on his left hip, which I guess was better than hitting face-first or knee-first, the latter of which I’ve done on a home treadmill (or dreadmill, as I often call it).
In short, his manparts were probably saved, but I doubt his pride was. He bounced off the back of the treadmill and out into the aisle as I winced inwardly.
Of course, he didn’t need help. He was a dude, and, as such, refused my knobby little proffered hand. Two other people, both women, rushed over to his aid. Perhaps it was his lucky day, or his unlucky one, depending on how he narrated the situation to himself.
Either way, I second-guessed. Should I have called out I’ll get it, then hopped down and scooped the phone off the sparkly blue carpeting? Should I have looked at him? Did I breach gymnasium etiquette by not ignoring the phone-drop? Could I have done anything to prevent his fall? Should I have grabbed at him as he fell? (Yeah, as if I could have stopped him.) Do I dare to eat a peach? (Never mind those singing mermaids.)
I apologized to him and asked him if he was okay. At least twice.
I was sorry I’d seemed to distract him, I said. Or perhaps that’s wishful thinking, in addition to being at least a little self-centered.
In any case, now perhaps I should go polish my best Blanche DuBois accent. With fading youth as my focus.
Clearing throat and rolling out the drawl (yes, I’ve still got it way down in the bag of tricks):
“I don’t want realism, I want magic! . . . Yes, yes, magic! I try to give that to people. I misrepresent things to them. I don’t tell the truth, I tell what ought to be truth. And if that is sinful, then let me be damned for it!” (from “A Streetcar Named Desire,” by Tennessee Williams)
heh. I want this to be true.
Well, you can guess what is embellishment and icing. It’s mostly “as I saw it,” though! And I still feel sorry for the guy, even if he was being macho.
unless you were wearing something close to nothing, it was the cell phone’s fault, not yours. he better change to another carrier. 🙂
Nope, I observed all gym rules on apparel! I just felt bad for the guy–maybe if he hadn’t looked over at me (if I hadn’t looked at him first), perhaps he wouldn’t have fell. I saw him leave soon after, so I hope he didn’t bruise/injure his hip or leg; he wasn’t limping, but maybe he was faking the walk.
Poor guy, I felt sorry for his little mishap. For sure he was distracted with a few things. I could only imagine the embarrassment after he landed! Ouch! 😉
Oh my, I’d hate to have been that guy. Being British, I would have got straight back up and carried on as if nothing had happened, while my face turned the colour of a fire engine.
You know, he was kind of British, I guess, in his reaction. He got back on and kept going, but I saw him leave a little while later. He wasn’t limping, so I hope he was not hurt. I think I probably blushed for him (I’m a blusher).
Me to, Leigh, I blush all the time. If he was British, then I expect he went home and had a nice cup of tea with some jammy dodger biscuits (not cookies) 🙂
Hugh, those biscuits sound delightful, though I’m pretty sure I’ve ever had a proper British tea. I will do that someday! (Put it on the so-called Bucket List.)
Here you go, Leigh
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jammie_Dodgers
Not as nice as Oreos though 🙂
Looks good; I’ve seen those before, but I don’t think I’ve tried them. Choccie Dodgers sound good, too. Oreos are all artificial (though they do taste good). 🙂
It’s amazing how us girls feel a man’s pain, even though we’re not endowed with the same tackle!
I guess I’d be terrible embarrassed too.
Enjoyed this tale – and anyone who can quote from A Streetcar Named Desire is aces by me! (That’s a good thing.)
I look so forward to reading your stories! I thought your use of Tennessee Williams’ quote was superb! 🙂
Haha, another reason I avoid the gym. (I’m so accident-prone, I could totally be that guy!)
Another thing is, I could have been him, too. I am not the most graceful person; oh, the stories I could tell about my lack!