I Love the Smell of Commerce in the Morning

The other day I decided to go shoe shopping at our local mall in Provo, so I grabbed my son, Porter, and made him come with me. We parked at Dillard’s and made our way safely through the lingerie section, slapping Porter’s hands to keep him from pulling all the nightgowns off the racks. We had to get downstairs to find the shoes, so we headed for the escalators. Porter loves few things more than escalators, so he was very distraught to find out that this particular escalator was not moving. He kept asking me why we had to walk down the stairs when they should obviously be doing the work for us. I was, of course, thinking the same thing: ‘There’s got to be an easier way to get down this thing than walking! What are we, cavemen?’ So I came to the enlightened conclusion: sliding down the rails, of course. So I stuck my feet up on the rails in front of me just to test the feasibility of my idea. Unfortunately, someone in the escalator making business must have already thought of this and taken steps to prevent it. Those rails are about as slippery as a sandpaper slip-and-slide. Undaunted, however, I thought if I could just extend my body enough to make use of the sleeves of my nylon jacket, I could outwit the spiteful escalator gods. That’s about when things started to go horribly wrong.

I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but I next found myself sliding, not gracefully down the rails as I had envisioned, but rather, ass-over-teakettle off the rails down onto the serrated death trap waiting below.  I found that not only have the escalator makers managed to prevent people from sliding down their rails, but they’ve developed a rather painful punishment for any that dare oppose them.  So, after landing painfully on my back on the unforgiving steps, I popped back up to make sure nobody had seen what a total moron I am.  I looked first at Porter to see him staring at me with his ‘What the heck just happened’ expression (luckily he’s still young enough to think I’m funny when I hurt myself and not old enough to be mortified at being seen in public with me).  Then I glanced back to the previously unnoticed Dillard’s security guard standing behind him.  He asked me if I was OK, but must have been thinking ‘what a retard!’  I thought to myself, ‘my hip is bruised, my back is bleeding and I think I tore my jacket.’  ‘I’m fine,’ I said.

All in all, I’m not sure how many other people saw the incident.  I was too busy nonchalantly limping down the escalator and into the shoe department, not making eye contact with anyone, and trying to establish, without reaching behind to check, how injured my back was.  After leaving the store, I checked my jacket to find it not ripped after all, but I do have four nice puncture wounds in my back and some blood stains on my under shirt.  Oh well.  It’s a small price to pay for a dose of humility and an amusing anecdote.  You should have heard Porter telling my wife about it.  He thinks I’m hilarious.  I wonder how long that will last.

3 Responses

  1. You are such a moron, but I love it. I could not stop laughing when I read this because I could actually see this happening in my head. Thank you for brightening up my not so great morning!

  2. Oh Mike, that’s so awful and so dang funny. You need to write a book. You’ve always had a great way with words. I love it!

  3. […] Posted on March 17, 2008 by mikehurren Some of you out there may have read about my recent encounter with the vicious and insatiable escalator gods. I thought that story was over, but it seems that […]

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