It was a long, sleepless night. I couldn't stay in one position for more than 30 minutes. This isn't a sob story. My alarm sounded at 8am. I hit snooze three times with full intentions of getting out of bed by 8:27 - each snooze is 9 minutes for some odd reason. It wasn't until I hit the third snooze that I realized how badly i did not want to go to school today. I was in no mood to sit in a small desk for 3 hours with my bad back. I snoozed for nine more minutes and dreamt of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a massage - with 9 minutes like that I can't see how any one could drag them-self out of bed to go to class....once again I must forewarn you that I never do realize my dream of scrambled eggs, bacon, and a massage - if you are looking for a story like that i suggest to try somewhere else.
I stayed in bed all day. Roald Dahl read me a book on tape and I took a three hour nap. The bread I had was stale, so a midday sandwich turned into a mid-day market run. It was nice to get out of the house in the middle of the day (actually 2 pm)...the market was uncrowded and I perused its aisles peacefully.
Back in my apartment I prepared a feast of sandwiches and a tall glass of milk. I watched an episode of Outsourced as I ate my lunch. Cleaned up, threw in a load of laundry, and retreated back to my bed where I checked my email, and then watched an episode of Dexter. This is all very trivial and boring, I know, but this is how it went.
445 pm - time to get up and shower. I had an english lesson at 6, and a 30 minute metro ride. I wasn't the student in the lesson, i was the teacher - I speak english fine. As I hobbled to my student's house I debated calling her father to tell him that I wasn't coming. I seriously battled with the decision all the way to the buzzer, as my back spasmed. Celia needs me - she has a test on Friday.
Lesson went really well...best i've seen her do since i starting mentoring her, i mean teaching her english. I have good feelings about this Friday's test - we're going to kill it! I mean, Celia's going to kill it. I left the house speaking spanish, and feeling really happy and good about myself...i skipped to the metro. Ya right. My back killed after sitting down for an hour...15 euros was worth it. I mean, the smile on her face and A on her paper was worth it.
As i'm about to cross the street to the metro a gray sedan speeds up and skids out right in front of me, wedging in a black car against the curb. The driver of the gray car has a flat top, and he's very angry. Swiftly and powerfully gets out of his car, and without breaking stride hammer kicks the driver side window of the black car. He starts punching the window repeatedly and cursing in Spanish. He kicks the doors and double gavel punches the hood of the car. Things were getting heated.
For some reason, the man in the black car lost all sense of sensibility while this was going on. His driver side window was slightly down, and the angry man with a flat-top gripped the top of the window with great fervor and started to frantically try to snap the window in half. It was at this point that the driver in the black car looked at me standing there on the corner with my hands in my pockets and a slight smirk on my face. He then let out a huge scream and looked as if he was going to cry, before shaking madly in the front seat as if his life was about to end. I somewhat hoped that the angry mad would break into the car - of course, i also wondered what had made him so mad. I debated helping the man in the black car, if the flat-topped man were to break in, for a very quick second, but then i remembered my back - what was I going to do anyway. I couldn't fight him. And I certainly couldn't talk him out of it in Spanish, I can't even put on my socks...and besides, people with tempers like that don't speak two languages, or even three for that matter! I thought the man in the black car was doomed...
Just then, I witnessed a moment of clarity - something that only alcoholics and strippers usually experience. The driver gained his composure and realized that he was in his CAR, and the other man WASN'T...AND he realized that he was only blocked in from the front - he had room to back up. With a couple more hammer kicks and gavel throws the driver in the black car was able to garner enough room to hop the curb and speed off...probably to no avail, and he was most likely caught by the flat-topped man and beat to hell...mind you, this all went on five feet in front of me. I must admit during this whole ordeal not ONCE did I think about the pain in my back...I smiled as I walked into the metro, but my back was, once again, on my mind.
Quite sad, really. Now I walk around hoping that perfect strangers will get into fights only so that I can forget about the pain in my back for a few good minutes...
Well, I'm not going to beat myself up over it - i have a pizza in the oven.
Painstakingly yours,
CM Stassel
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