And Living Proof that Sometimes Friends Are Mean...

I’m not really sure what Good Friday is, but I do know I’m gonna dance myself clean this weekend. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve had a proper bender.   I’ve been having some work done—ink, not eyelids—and attending committee meetings for “fun”, in an effort to be a contributor to society who gives of her time and her talents.  I also did a sit-up last week so I’m still recovering from that.  Not to mention how exhausted I am from risking injury and reputation to save a life yesterday.

There I was having a nice read and a ginger ale on a sunny patio.  I was totally alone except for this squirrelly little wire-haired man on the opposite end.  (Probably because most people work for a living on Thursday afternoon.)  The wind picked up so fiercely it started to move my cocktail ginger ale, and suddenly I heard a horrid screech of metal and an awkward man-cry.  A table umbrella had flown at my nerd friend, knocking his table over on top of him. 

Normally in this situation I would pretend not to notice and keep reading as if a tornado wasn’t happening around me.  I don’t get involved. I don’t help strange little old people across the street; I rarely even look at traffic accidents.  I just keep it movin’.  But I was having a pretty serious moral dilemma here.  I was the only other person on the patio and I didn’t see anyone from inside rushing to help…  So I (reluctantly) went over with a half-hearted “you OK?” and helped scrape the bits of shrimp and corn out of Napoleon Dynamite’s hair.  I righted tables, picked up chairs.  Cranked down umbrellas, collected bev naps.  I would’ve offered him my stylist’s card, but I didn’t want to seem overly selfless. Anyway, it was the highlight of my day, seeing someone’s life in shambles like that.  Not life-threatening or permanently catastrophic—just those 10 minutes or so of ruin. 

And so, to all you detractors who think I couldn’t survive in the wild or be of any help in your post-apocalyptic community, or that I’d snap my gum, roll my eyes, and saunter away if I ever found myself on ‘What Would You Do?’, I am a good fucking Samaritan, and I shouldn’t have to wait till last to get picked for your disaster team.  You’re welcome.