The Ego Episodes

Saturday, Oct. 04, 2003

30 Days Later

Butt and Boots: Because We All Love A Butt Story
September 19, 2003

I'm not going to talk about my work.

No. Nuh-uh. There's no way I'm letting my work-related sentiments out in the open lest I make myself vulnerable to said sentiments biting me at some point in the future. I shall resist.

It was almost 8 a.m. and as usual, I was still on the bus that was making its way to my stop. I gave a yelp of joy inside. Yay! I'm not late! Also, I'm wearing pretty comfy office clothes that day: blue collared blouse, black pants and my all-around, black heeled boots. My feet were showing signs of fatigue from spending about an hour in the MRT standing. Good thing I learned this trick, almost by reflex, in which you lean on one side, letting either your left or right foot take on most of your weight. As the following details would show, that was one of the stupidest 'trick' ever.

Outlined herewith are the events leading to The Tragedy You Wish Would Never Happen To You -- Ever. (to be accompanied by "Every step I take/ every move I make ... ")

First step: Bus door opened. Few people got off.
Second step: Stood near bus door and prepared to take two steps down.
Third step: Put right leg forward for lower step but did not maintain contact with step for long as leg slipped, followed by other leg, followed by butt, in a cascading display of butt bounce-athon from higher to lower step.
Fourth step: Stood up flushed with embarrassment but did not let situation stop self from standing up as if nothing happened while making sure hair is covering face in a desperate attempt to hide identity from many office mates getting off the bus (instead of stopping and helping me out! which would be ... terribly embarrassing so okay, that was a good thing). Noticed hard object "cushioning" butt from fall. Picked up object and realized it was heel of my right boot. Did not gasp. Too shocked.
Fifth, sixth and seventh steps: Moved to sit at bus stop to think of what to do, making sure head is down to maintain (non) anonymity. Called colleague, cab and God.

Needless to say, the lean-to-one-side "trick" cost me my boots. Losing those pair of boots proved to be the impetus for a series of crazy shopping sprees. Shoe stores were never happier.

>>>

The Shoe Must Go On
October 3, 2003

Finishing something is really not my thing, yes? I might be slitting the throat of a live chicken, waiting for all its blood to drain into a bowl, which, after some time, would only trigger my mind to wander somewhere far more interesting than throat-slitting and blood streams. Let the chicken run off with its dangling, nearly amputated head. Yes, even headless chickens can be an extra in the movie "Chicken Run". Have you watched that movie? Mel Gibson? I heard there were charges against the "originality" of the story but I don't know who ended with what amount of money. Anyway, you get the point.

The last entry, dated September 19, isn't done yet. Although it's of considerable length for a journal entry, it was for the purpose of relaying my story in detail and should not be construed as me having said enough about the topic. Apparently, one blooper is not enough for Joycie.

Sunny day, with a little bit of wind and I wasn't late for work. Again, typical signs of a something-terrible-will-happen-later-YOU-JUST-WATCH-JOYCIE-HAHAHA day (refer to Sept. 19 entry).

I always pass by the same route everyday from the bus stop to work. I didn't know what made me cross the road that day but I suddenly found myself walking to the other side ... yes, now I remember. Trees. I wanted to walk near them.

I reached my desk and sat down to catch my breath. And that's when I smelled something funky. As anyone with a nose, I turned around, looked down, all the while discreetly sniffing in the hopes of hitting on The Source.

And I did.

On the floor. Underneath my shoe. Shit!

I stepped on poop. Or other. Couldn't tell. Could be DF, decomposing fruit. OR both (poop + DF). I didn't think it was practical at that time to examine what it is because clearly, it had a shitty smell and that's all that mattered.

There were a lot of people in the office yet thankfully, all of them were oblivious to my dilemma. I took several steps to the toilet, trying hard not to put too much pressure on the right foot. I do not need a poop trail on the carpet to put me into more trouble.

Using the hose in the toilet's cubicle no. 3, I rinsed it off good. Then rinsed it again. And again. Until no trace of poop could be detected. That was such a horrendous ordeal that I've refrained from using cubicle no. 3 unless it's an emergency.

A shoe can make your day. Or indulge you with some of the major catastrophes known to all womenkind. A heel could break and a sole could step on an unknown stinky substance. Life is a shoe. Or a headless chicken on the run. You decide.

{ joycie at 10:03 a.m.}