Tales of clumsiness

I’m the ring announcer for the local pro wrestling promotion. I usually use a wireless microphone, and typically enter the ring by rolling under the bottom rope, then standing up.

At tonight’s show, the wireless microphone was unavailable, so I had to use a corded one. On one of my rolls into the ring, the cord got tangled around my feet, and while I got to my feet, I wasn’t there long before falling over. I had to untangle the cord from a sitting position.

Oh well. The crowd loved it. They were entertained; that’s what matters.

I am “clothes clumsy” (my name for it). I get tangled, hung and otherwise trapped when wearing anything more than gym shorts and flip flops. I also abhor crowds to a near psychotic level.

Last week, I got to add the two together by making a business trip via airline. This allows me to twin delights of re-enacting Star Trek’s Mark of Gideon while carrying bags and wearing a winter coat. I managed to get it hung once and tore out part of the lining. I managed to drop and/or lose my ID, my credit card, my boarding pass, and my luggage claim. In addition, at one point I picked up my carryon upside down and dumped the entire contents on the floor. I also screwed up the TSA process twice and earned myself complete patdowns. I’m nearly ill in pressing crowds like this and can’t keep up with simple instructions, leaving electronics in the bag, or keys in my pocket or forgetting to remove my belt. It was a disaster from step one.

Remember, I have zero problem filing IFR, and climbing into a Cessna to fly myself to destinations, even in bad weather. But I hate crowds like this so much I end up throwing up in the days leading to a trip. Add excessive clothing to snag and hang on stuff and it becomes a shit show.

A few weeks ago I was emptying the dishwasher, bent over to grab some dishes, and when I straightened up I smacked my head on the bottom edge of the half-open cabinet door above the dishwasher.

Similarly, when I mow the back yard there is a crabapple tree I have to duck under to mow around. There is one low-hanging branch with a big knot on the bottom from where I pruned an even-lower-hanging branch, and I never seem to duck low enough and always smack my head on that knot.

Late this morning I dropped an unopened bottle of anchovy fillets and chili in olive oil while getting it out of the cupboard above the stove. It rolled down the range hood, over my shoulder and smashed on the tiles. I had no shoes on and turned around to find myself amid a spray of broken glass, a large puddle of spicy olive oil and a pile of anchovy fillets.

It was one of those cleaning jobs where you end up having to clean up everything used in the cleanup. Of course, this happened about an hour after I had mopped the kitchen floor.

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Tales of clumsiness
by don’t ask


I was carrying a glass of ice water and it slipped from my hand. I couldn’t catch it, and it hit the tile floor. Figuring my eyes were almost 6 feet above the floor, I felt safe and didn’t close my eyes. What could go wrong?
A sliver flew up and cut my cornea. Had to get stitched up, wear an eye patch for a month, and it took a year for the vision in that eye to be distortion-free.

One Christmas I was commissioned to bring the mashed potatoes to the family gathering. Walking up the steps to my sister’s house, I tripped and dropped the giant pot O spuds all over her steps.

I am a notorious falling-up-the-stairs tripper. Carrying laundry upstairs is usually the culprit. Thankfully the bundle of clean clotbes has saved me from facial injury, so far.

I’m in the basement of our new house arranging cartons of goods. Somewhere above my head, descending from the floor joists is a 2x2 on the end of which is an electric box with a standard two-outlet installed. Instead of being honest plastic, the faceplate is thin aluminum with a layer of wood-grain vinyl one one side.

Finished with the boxes I straighten out and instantly ram the crown of my head into a corner of the faceplate with an audible, “Thunk!” almost immediately followed by a buzzing, “Dong,” as I duck away. I decide the pain is such I better assess the damage and start up the stairs. Before I reached the top, a trickle of blood was descending my forehead.

Holy ouch, Batman!

The actual hole was pretty dinky. Scalp wounds are pretty notorious for bleeding freely.

Well my dumb ass just went out to the barn to get something and stuck my hand in a box and came back with 3 stings, bites or something. They definitely have a venom-ish aspect. I dont think it was a spider or snake. I’m thinking it was a wasp or hornet. Damn, that hurts! Plus, it was the wrong box. Oh, joy.

A bizarre one ( to me ) was a few years ago. I unloaded the dishwasher and gave a dinner plate a wipe with a towel. For some reason my arm/hand/wrist inexplicably flinched and I flung the damn thing like a half-hearted Frisbee throw. It landed and shattered. I just stood there for what must have been the best part of a minute wondering what/why that happened. It was “unbreakable” Correll type stuff that survived occassional droppings…but not a flinging.

I’m also a slow waker who is somewhat dazed till I’ve had my coffee, and it’s not uncommon for me to crash into door frames and such. Been like that a long time.

mom had a heirloom butcher knife she used …and I dried the dishes …well it was so dull that I became careless over time and dried it underhanded blade side down in one huge swipe…
well stepdad decided to sharpen it so she wouldn’t nag about it ………then visiting grandpa got bored remembered mom mentioned it was dull so he sharpened it too 12 year old me swipes it and cut my hand through the towel deep enough for about 10 stitches ……… the males both say “sorry I forget to mention I sharpened it” ……the er trip over it is another story ……

I kicked a metal door that was stuck and wouldn’t push open…kicked it so hard that I broke my toe…then I realized it was a pull door :o

Splashed boiling water all over my hand while trying to remove a measuring cup from the microwave. I have no idea how I did this; I make tea every day and usually don’t even splash water all over the counter.

This made me laugh too hard. I’m sorry for giggling at your misfortune.

So I will give you one to laugh at.

This happened when I was in junior high, a long time ago. I was very awkward (as everyone is in junior high) and it was the last day of PE before winter break. They had us inside playing a variant of kick ball called mat ball.

Here’s how mat ball was played. Instead of bases, you had mats in the four corners of the gym. The kicker would kick the ball that was served to them by the pitcher for the other team and could chose which direction to go around the mats. Once you picked a direction, you had to keep going the same way. You could stay on the mats as long as you liked. Once you stepped off a mat, though, you had to go to the next. The other team could tag you out only by touching you with the ball or getting three outs before you finished going around the bases. As you can see, there was some strategy involved.

I was on my mat and I was getting ready to run. I knew when I stepped off that I would have to make it to the next mat. I heard the kick and I sped off at top speed, bound and determined to get to that mat before I got tagged out. Unfortunately, I did not account for the brick wall behind the mat that I was currently running toward, nor did I account for the volleyball net on my right that wasn’t quite put away. I tripped and landed on the mat on my hands and knees and smashed my head into the wall. All was stars and time seemed to slow down. I couldn’t move or talk, all I could do was lay there and wonder how I knew where everyone was while not being able to see.

The PE teacher scooped me up and put me in a wheelchair. Then, she took me to the nurses’ office who called my mom. I don’t remember how long it took. It felt like either forever or an instant. I’m not sure if I slept or not. I still couldn’t see or walk on my own when my mom picked me up. She took me straight to the ER where I was diagnosed with a concussion and a sprained neck.

TL,DR - I was playing a game in PE where I ran at a brick wall, tripped and gave myself a concussion while almost breaking my neck.

Sometimes microwaved water will not appear to boil until it’s disturbed - then it’ll suddenly BOIL. As in, maybe you grabbed that measuring cup, and that movement was enough to cause it to bubble violently.

Me: too many incidents to list, but one memorable one was when I lost an argument with the stairs in my house. I thought there were 7 steps left, it thought there were 6 (or maybe the other way around). The stairs won the argument, and I wound up sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, with an ouchy foot that I quickly realized was broken. At that point, I’d lived in that house for 9 years - I bloody well knew how many stairs there were. But that’s what I get for thinking I can do daily activities like walking.

When I was a junior in college, I had a dorm room all to myself (I’d then been in the dorms for three years, and had enough seniority to get one of the “singles.”) I had my bed set up as a “loft” (i.e., a bunk bed without the lower bed), with a seating area underneath. When I first set the room up this way, I used my desk chair to get up into the bed.

That first week in the room, it was fall registration week, which largely meant that it was a week off for me. One morning, I was sleeping in a bit, and the phone started ringing. I went to get out of the bed, and missed the chair, dropping to the floor. I landed on my feet, but stumbled forward, and hit my head on my stereo (which was on the desk, on the far side of the room).

I then answered the phone – it was a friend of mine on the line. “Good morning! How are you today?”, she asked. I put my hand to my forehead, and it came away bloody. “Ummm…bleeding? I’ll call you back.”

I went down the hall to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and saw that I had a two-inch-long gash right along my hairline. My housefellow (RA) called campus security, and they sent a campus police officer to transport me to the health clinic – he asked what I’d done, and when I told him, he laughed the entire trip. :smiley: The doctor at the clinic stuck my forehead back together with butterfly tape, and I got a nice little scar out of the deal – it’s since served as a barometer to illustrate how far back my hairline has receded.