I may as well come clean. From the moment I became a Madrid metro user I knew that it would come to pass eventually; the miracle is that ’til yesterday I’d escaped unscathed.
I fell down the stairs in the metro. Yes. I was that girl.
I could pretend that something calamitous happened to spur this klutziness. I could tell you that an old man mercilessly elbowed me in the gut, that an errant child dashed ‘cross my path down the stairs, or that a blind person’s cane popped out at me from nowhere. But none of that’s true. The simple fact is that I was rushing like the asshole that I am–racing, in fact, the woman who was three steps ahead of me if you want the real truth–and I missed a step. I saw my little brown, purple and yellow plaid Ked in slow motion as it flew past the intended step, meeting not with the next one down, nor the one after that. Before I knew it, I was plunging, surprised, down 5 steps in the Nuñez de Balboa station. By the time my ass humped over the fifth stair I was laughing hard, which made the situation much better. A passerby clapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I was all right, to which I only responded, “Floja, pero bien, gracias.” I grinned, rose stiffly up and walked on toward line 9.
Aside from a trifle of embarrassment and my left ass sporting a new set of bruises, I escaped from my tumble unscathed. For this I feel blessed. I’m choosing to look upon my little accident as a triumph, instead. After all, I knew a metro fall was inevitable–it was just a question of when. Theoretically, now that I have it behind me it shouldn’t happen again. Theoretically. 🙂
Dammit, I should go to bed.
And I have seven projects for Fathom on my plate, including writing a Wikipedia article on us!? omgwtfbbq!??!?