Two Saturdays ago I was in Jinan, China, giving that talk I wrote about.
Last Saturday, I was in Manhattan. That was four days ago.
It was mid-evening in The Big Apple. The Big Apple… an informal term that originally derived from horse-racing, fell out of favor, and was then revived again during the mid-century revitalization of NYC.
It was mid-evening in The Big Apple. Lower Manhattan to be precise, just about at the corner of Wall Street and William, just this side of the Trump Hotel, where you can see people taking selfies against the big gold letters T.R.U.M.P. all day long.
On the way back to my hotel, coming back from a short errand about 9:30 PM, I was crossing that poorly lit intersection just one block north of Wall Street. I was carrying my small plastic bag of Coke Zero bottles that I has just picked up at the 24 hour Duane Reade, located on the north side of the hotel with the big gold TRUMP letters over the south entrance.
Mere moments from the entrance to my hotel, which did not have big gold letters on the front, I stepped up to the curb… but not quite completely lifting my freaking right foot to clear the curb itself.
The next thing I knew, I had done a perfect 4-point landing on the concrete at that intersection just north of Wall Street on William. A face-plant, that is, given that the 4 points were my forehead, my nose, my eye socket, and my chin. What I recall is my right eye pressed against the back of the right lens of my glasses, which was in turn pressed against the sidewalk.
I was moving forward and I think I might have bounced.
The kind couple who witnessed this came over to see if I was OK as I was getting up and taking the inventory of my body parts and checking myself over for breaks and displacements. It seems I led with my head, perhaps because my dominant arm was busy at the time.
The woman asked if I wanted help. I was pissed that I was looking through a completely scratched up lens on pair of relatively new and relatively expensive pair of glasses. Nothing like getting your priorities set. I made some comment about having screwed up my glasses, and that I was mere steps from my hotel, so I would just head inside. She let me know I was bleeding, at which point I looked at the deep red hue shimmering off the black leather gloves I was wearing.
All parts in place and my nose seemed to be straight. Check. Brain was working. Check. I knew where I was and I was starting get so annoyed that this had happened. Check. Surprisingly little pain. I popped up my hood and pulled off my hat to shield my face. I was not that interested in getting into a conversation as I passed through the hotel. The person at reception did not see me, and I scooted to the corner of the small and almost empty lounge area just through the lobby, passing the one guy whose nose was stuck in his phone.
I sat and took inventory again, and tried to figure where this blood was coming from, and whether calling 911 was in my future. After perhaps 2-3 minutes, I felt composed. There was blood but I was not dripping any. And so back to the lobby as soon as those people who just got off the elevator cleared out.
Traveling as much as I do, I carry some baseline medical supplies. Alcohol pads… cotton balls… Neosporin… bandaids. A little soap and warm water, and a bit of macabre fascination looking back in the mirror – but not enough to take a picture. Clean was the watch-word. I was not too interested in thinking about what might be lurking on the surface of concrete just north of Wall Street that was now pressed into my skin.
I am a good healer… maybe not Wolverine calibre, but not too bad. Twenty-four hours later, the improvement was quite noticeable. Four days later (see above) I am nursing a heck of a black eye, but all the other mending has progressed significantly.
My optical insurance appears to have a stupidity clause in the warranty, so the glasses are being replaced at no cost.
And those bottles of Coke Zero I was carrying? Well, those little bastards skittered away and were never heard from again.