It was the 1993 Iowa Floods. Being a conscientious highschool sophomore, moreover, an idiot who shouldn't be allowed to walk without an aide, I wanted to do my part in the flood relief. After all, I was playing in the pool and enjoying the hot tub while my friends, just over the county line, were trying to remember to only flush the toilet after they shit. (aka the phrase, if its yellow, let it mellow, if its brown, flush it down ).
So I went down to the sand lot and was put to work baggin' sand. I was successful for about 15 minutes until I felt the first hit. My entire body came crashing down onto the mound of sand in front of me. Limp and lifeless as I was, the rest of my group had to quickly redirect their aim so I wouldn't be further hit by their shovels as well as my own.
Yes, I had just hit my head with the full power of my shovel during a follow-through stroke. After a minute or so, I wearily stood up and attempted to gain my composure. Of course that's composure with a huge freakin' welt attached to it. I waited for the first laugh what seemed an eternity. But alas, nothing. Eerily quiet, the only sound was grunting and, well, shoveling. I had just met metal to skull to sand with the bumps and dirt to prove it and yet no one came forward. Had I been on the other side of this situation? Well, I would like to think I would have reacted like anyone else - in gut wrenching laughter. After a while of getting no reaction, I wearily began shoveling again, this time taking greater care of this dangerous weapon I was using.
It was about ten minutes later that it happened again. A bit more serious this time as I didn't wake up for a few minutes. I felt as though the referee was pounding his hand on the sand performing the countdown. I woke up just in time to see my neighbor give the crowd gathered behind me a play-by-play of the dumb girl who knocked herself out. Oh, and how I thought my group didn't react the first time? not quite. Rather, they knew I was not finished entertaining them and were saving up their energy for this, the grand finale.
After seeing the crowd, the relief director
came over to check on the situation. Hearing of my condition on being
an idiot, she helped me to my feet and walked me off the stage. She sat
me down, checked me out and once decided I was otherwise going to live,
gave me a piece of advice. Retire. Don't find a career in construction.
Do not come back and no, you don't get $200.00 for passing go. Instead?
well, she did say it was obvious I had the gift of prayer.