A Memo Concerning: Falling in Public and Assholery.

Several years ago a friend brought to my attention a timeless, character defining dilemma. He had been walking to class through a nipple cracking frigid day at Ithaca College when the unsuspecting young lady in front of him dramatically slipped on a patch of ice and fell on her face. My friend suddenly found himself captured in a whirlwind of emotion and looked to those around him for some kind of direction. His eyes caught the stranger next to him and it quickly became evident that he too was caught in the same quandary. This friend later came to ask me, and I now attempt to answer for you all, in this situation who is the bigger asshole? The guy who laughs when someone falls in public, or the one who doesn’t? So we have...

A Memo Concerning: Falling in Public and Assholery.

This past Thanksgiving I was waiting in an airport terminal burping up the 9 dollar Cadillac Margarita I had slammed at the bar minutes before, letting my eyes scan across the scene for weirdos and boobjobs (same thing?), keeping close guard of my luggage from suspicious brown people attempting to brush anthrax on my backpack, when a flustered lady in testicle smasher heels came sprinting through the masses. Behind her whirred the wheels of her luggage, the same roller luggage used by flight attendants, self-important businessmen, and the pagan splinter cell of the Knights Templar. The furious clatter of her sprint immediately caught the eyes of the rest of us patiently waiting for our cattle call for the simple fact that no boarding calls had recently been made, much less any last minute warnings. What was her hurry? Then, as if the mighty hand of Karma came sweeping across us mere mortals, this broad tripped her self on her luggage and was sent spilling through the air, hair waving like the star-spangled banner before fantastically falling on her out stretched wrists and then face. I completely lost it. From the dirty looks coming from the sea of strangers around me I suddenly realized nobody appreciated this moment as much as I did. It was either that or the issue of blood coming down her chin that allowed everyone else to keep their composure.

Maybe I can blame my reaction on the dashing way I had earlier asked my waitress to make my margarita extra special.
“You want another one honey?”
“No m’am, I probably shouldn’t. I have another one of these I might start flirting with you a whole lot more.”
“Oh baby, that’s not the cocktail that’s doin that to yah.”
She looked like a combination of Lindsay Lohan after about ten more years of coke benders and Mr. Burns embalmed in vinegar. Her hair could have housed three generations of chinchilla breeding.

Someone helping the fallen terminal angel back up on her feet shot a nasty look at my still silently chuckling grin and I wished that I could explain to them what the pickled Burns had done to me earlier. But I doubt they would have wanted to hear that. Asshole.

Everyday I am amazed at the human ability to not seize the opportunity to laugh. To me there is no bigger asshole than someone oblivious to life’s comedy. A few weeks ago I told a dear friend that seeing her slip while crossing a tile lobby would make my day. She immediately grew offended. For about point niner of one second I tried to explain myself but quickly realized that simply shrugging my shoulders and pleading “C’mon!” would be a better response. That’s the only way I know how to respond to Assholery (DISCLAIMER: I’m not saying that this friend is an asshole, just that at this brief moment in time she experimented with Assholery).

Even now there is a photo still permanently ingrained in my mind. The airport terminal sprinter is suspended in mid air. Hair spreads across the air above her in elegant fashion, as if blown by some distant mystical wind. Across her face is an eruption of surprise, fear, vulnerability and anger, all topped off with a hint of self-disappointment. Both hands extend in front of her desperately in Joe DiMaggio-sliding-into-home-plate fashion. Her luggage is stuck in motion moving away from the back of one of her legs. Behind her someone sits in a chair with eyes wide open and mouth in a perfect O shape. Next to this person is someone immediately concerned, already on their way to help the falling angel and maybe they predicted the fall—like a parent reaches for a cup before their child knocks it off the table. In the foreground to the left of the angel someone else has half turned around with curious eyes waiting to look back and see what that sound was. They are mid stride in the same direction. There they all are, stuck forever in this frozen composition.

Behind the edges of this photo there am I, enjoying the symphony of it all, eyes a-glaze, awe-struck like an 8 year old at their first IMAX movie experience.