Ice Scream

Now there was a flashback I could’ve done without.

Every so often—too often, come to think of it—Facebook resurrects photos from yesteryear.

I do come across some pleasant memories, but then I’m quickly appalled at how much time has flown by since I’d taken the damn picture.

Last week Zuckerberg’s time suck machine hacked up a selfie I had taken some eight years ago when I hospitalized for double-knee surgery following a slip on the ice.

Yikes, I thought, why would in God’s holy name would I want to be reminded of that flaming fiasco?

I clicked off and I forgot all about it. Until Thursday.

I was walking home from the gym that morning and decided to take a different route to my house.

Well, it was a different all right, as I took a sudden trip down Memory Lane, which felt a lot like the highway to Hell.

It was cold and I was wearing my recently purchased facemask, which, while making me look like a bank robber, it does keep me warm.

I was passing a house near Narrows Avenue when—oh, God help me—I slipped on the ice and went sliding down to the pavement.

I landed on my left side, and while it jarred me up a bit, I didn’t break or twist anything.

It was shocking, painful, but, most of all embarrassing. I felt like the town drunk and I’m so glad I had that mask on.

I looked around and saw the pavement and driveway of the home was a massive sheet of ice. You could’ve held the Stanley Cup playoffs at this place.

Worse yet, there was some ying yang nearby dusting the snow of his car who obviously had seen what had happened but who was studiously avoiding looking in my direction.

I don’t know if he had any connection to the Ice Palace, but the dimwitted prick could’ve have at least asked me if I was okay.

Years ago, I saw a woman tumble down some stairs outside an apartment building in my neighborhood and I ran over to her to see if she was hurt.

Chatbot Confessions

She was all right and a few moments I went my way. But at least I freaking asked.

I checked to see if I was okay, muttered angrily at the snow schmuck, and walked home without further incident.

And as always, I started getting angry too late, reaming myself out for not taking a photo of the ice, for not pounding on the slip chalet’s door and screaming obscenities at the occupants, and most of all, I was furious that I hadn’t roared out my frustration at the car clown for playing deaf and dumb.

I got home and I was all twisted about being a wuss. Yeah, I probably would’ve gotten arrested or stomped if I raised too much hell, but I do still believe that I should’ve confronted the homeowner.

I also felt stupid, as in “here you go again, falling on the ice.” And I felt old, a geezer who can’t walk a few blocks without hitting the deck.

I fantasized about going back to the house in the dead of night and tossing a brick through the Frozen Arms big picture window, but I’m not as fast as I used to be and I’d probably would’ve slipped and fell while making my escape.

I whined my problems to Copilot, who was incredibly supportive—just as it’s designed to be.

“The anger you’re feeling now is really about wanting to feel in control again, not about the homeowner or the fall,” the AI analyst told me.

We “talked” for a while, until I got fed up with the chatbot’s constant questions clearly designed to extend the chat.

I called my auntie with the almost-awful news, who told my sister, and I was so happy to hear the phone ringa short time later because I knew it would be my sister calling to see if I was okay.

They were right by my side during the last tumble and I don’t want them to go through that misery again. But it does feel good to know that people care about you.

It rained heavily on Friday, washing away the ice, but I wasn’t taking any chances this close to Christmas.

I hibernated all weekend to escape the cold, rampant flu and other despicable diseases, as well as accidents.

My niece and her husband are due in from Denver on Tuesday and our family has an agenda brimming with holiday happenings.

Wishing everyone a happy and healthy holiday season.