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2006-02-03 - 5:59 p.m.

Since I�ve been talking about falling down and generally recounting times I alarmed various people, I thought I�d share the time I scared the Chinese food delivery guy. This also happened in the summer of 2004, shortly after I smashed my head going to that MoveOn documentary screening. Once again, this was at a time I was getting physically worse and hadn�t yet figured out how to move around without hurting myself (or maybe was being too stubborn to do so).

I had figured out over that summer that I could no longer easily cook for myself. My kitchen was very small and required tight maneuvering I could no longer do. Plus, sharp knives, hot flames, scalding water � it was just too dangerous. I realized it made more sense to order a lot of delivery. Some functions are hard to easily outsource (can I really pay someone to button my left wrist or collar?), but preparing food is not one.

God bless immigrant cultures. They will deliver a meal to your door for not much more than you would pay for groceries anyway. The convenience was well worth the extra few bucks to me. What else did I really spend money on? It�s not like I was going out a whole lot. I had a whole list in my cell phone of places that would deliver. There was Mexican, Thai, fancy sandwiches, gyros and whatnot, Indian, and of course the ubiquitous pizza and Chinese food.

One of my favorite delivery places was a Chinese restaurant in downtown Providence (next door to the performance space at AS220). I found it oddly comforting when they answered the phone in their mangled accent. �Chin� Stah, may I he�p yooouuu?� They had a very low delivery minimum (and didn�t have the bizarre $2.00 �delivery charge� of every place around here; I�ve never seen that outside Chicago). I thought it was very cool that a hot meal would come to me and there�d be leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

One hot night, probably in late August, I placed an order with them (it was usually the General Gau�s chicken combo or the roast pork with vegetables). A half hour or so later, the delivery guy called my cell and said he was out front. At least, I assume he said that; his accent was pretty impenetrable. I went to walk down my front hallway to get the food, but as I went for the door I fell down. I landed on my knee and it didn�t hurt too bad, but I couldn�t figure out how to get back up.

Once I�m down on the ground, it�s almost impossible for me to pick myself up straight without something to grab that will let me leverage myself. I lay on the floor a few minutes just blinking stupidly. Then the phone rang again. It was the delivery guy telling me (I think) to not leave him waiting. Hmm. I reached up and opened the door of my apartment. I dragged myself out prone and down the hall. There was a stairway up near the front door. I reached up and used a balustrade to pull myself upright. I opened the front door to see the delivery guy.

He stared at me with a look of shock. But how could he possibly know what had just happened? Probably just a scared, fresh-off-the-boat type who always looks like that, I thought. He told me how much it was and I gave him the cash. As I turned to go back to my place with the food, he stammered in his fractured English:
�Uhm. Ah you okay?�
�Why yes thank you, of course. Have a good night.� I closed the front door on him and went back to my apartment. Now that I thought about it, my knee did hurt a little.

When I came back in, I looked down and saw why. My jeans leg was completely soaked through with blood. I must have cut the skin of my knee when I fell, then opened it more by dragging myself across the floor. It looked pretty serious now. I wondered if it would scar (it has). I wondered if I should call someone or go to a doctor (I didn�t). Maybe I should wash the wound out and get some antiseptic before eating. Did I even have bandages? Maybe I should get some.

The delivery guy�s horror had been with seeing someone who was obviously bleeding heavily. Probably the red stain on my leg was growing as he watched. And I chirpily waved off his concern. Everything�s fine here! Crazy ass American, he must have thought. Perhaps we should all take a lesson from this: when answering the door with a serious injury on your knee, keep that leg tucked out of sight behind you to avoid alarming your visitor.

� 2006 Geoff Gladstone

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