(photo by Kyle Supley)
Over the years I have traveled far and wide on my shiny, red stilts – brand-named by the manufacturer as “Crazy Legs”. From a stint on the Today Show, to a SugaBabes music video, to a battle with the inventor of the Electric Slide – my trusty stilts have never let me down. Until last night.
After performing a stilt routine at the show, High School Talent Show in which I do the electric slide, break-dance, and hip-hop dance on my stilts, I decided it would be a good idea to end my routine by making a dramatic crash landing backstage. Only when I fell off my stilts, my head nailed the back wall and blood gushed everywhere. On the bright side, I did manage to cap off my routine, backstage as blood spurted out, by giving a shout-out to the school’s fictitious mascot: “Go Wizards!”
I wasn’t in great pain and I’m definitely fine now, but the gash was big enough to require stitches. So at about 9:30, I headed to the emergency room. Once there, I checked-in, filled out my paper work, and took a seat in the waiting room. And wait I did.
I felt like I was back at a 5th Grade “Lock-In” at the YMCA. Only instead of playing indoor soccer and watching the John Candy/Eugene Levy classic, Armed and Dangerous, I was forced to “play” with the broken vending machine that kept taking my dollar and watched the only thing they had on TV: Jay Leno. Luckily when Conan started up, things brightened a bit. But then depression hit in for good when Carson Daly came on the air. Not only would I now have to labor through Carson Daly’s show for the first time ever, I also realized that I was in for the long haul.
Finally, at around 2:30 am, a nurse called my name, “Samuel Latham,” and I made my way into the actual ER: where the big boys ate. And by big boys, I’m talking of course about screaming, moaning senior citizens. Every other patient in there was at least 80 years old. Not that there’s anything wrong with 80 year olds of course. But they do tend to talk a lot. As I tried my best to get a little shut-eye, I was surrounded by a chorus of jibber-jabber coming at me from all directions, in all sorts of languages, and all sorts of tones. The patient right next to me was shouting out words in a foreign language at a mile a minute and to no one in particular. When the nurse asked the woman who she was talking to, the patient simply replied, “Oh I don’t know. God I guess.” But judging by her constant spitting and angry tone, if she was indeed talking to God, they must’ve had a recent falling out.
Finally the doctor stitched me up, and after a little more waiting, I was free to go. It was 6 am. On the way home I was reminded of another time, several years ago in Chapel Hill, when I had to go to the emergency room to get stitches in my head. But that’s another story for another time. Today I had more important things to worry about. Like getting back up on my “Crazy Legs” as soon as possible, and showing her who’s boss.