A couple weeks ago I was leaving school at the end of an incredibly long day. It was dark and had been raining; the yellowish glow of sodium lights cast a vaguely mysterious haze over the glistening parking lot. At any moment I felt someone may step out from the shadows and begin reciting Prufrock.
Do I dare disturb the universe?
Anyway. I made my way to my car, enormous teacher tote, handbag, and coffee cup in tow. Just as I was about to grasp the door handle to unload my cargo, my leading foot slipped and I jolted forward in a decidedly unladylike fashion.
So far, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. I’m notoriously clumsy. My greatest hits include Falling Up the Stairs, Where Did That Bruise Come From, and the holiday classic Maybe You Should Live in a Bubble. I am the queen of random marks, cuts, and scrapes. On more than one occasion, this is completely true, I’ve had a quasi-intervention where coworkers or concerned friends tell me that it’s okay to seek help if I’m in an abusive relationship. It’s bad, friends.
I looked down at my feet, expecting to see a puddle or some kind of oil left on the pavement. Instead, what I see stopped me in my tracks. In a classic move that I couldn’t make up if I tried, I slipped on a banana peel. A BANANA PEEL. The absurdity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks and left me gasping for breath as my laughter bubbled to the surface. Somewhere between the classroom and my vehicle I had transformed from a respectable college instructor to a cartoon villain.
Do you ever have one of those days when you think, this might as well be my life?
You win this round, universe.