The Pie Baker

Fresh from the Oven

Scarred for Life

The year was 1986: I was a student at Oklahoma State University and lived in a mobile home in Stillwater. I had stayed in town for the summer so I could work and earn money for necessities – beer, smokes, Doritos, etc.- and was headed out to the store to obtain such necessities when I locked myself out of the house.

Being an independent young woman – and this being before the advent of cell phones, I decided to break into my own house. I scanned the yard to see what might aid me in this little adventure and found the following: a garbage can, a box fan and the lawnmower. I piled them into a Tetris-like construct and began the climb. At this juncture, I should point out that I lived in a 1960-something mobile home that had the 3-tier crank windows. So I broke the crank-shaft – easily done, but not exactly safe – and wedged myself into the lower third of the window.

Anyone who has met me knows that I am not a paragon of fitness, nor am I a Vogue waif – so as I wriggled into the window opening, my substantial middle halted my progress. My head, arms and chesticles were inside my kitchen, which I happened to notice was in desperate need of mopping, and my ass and legs were dangling outside the window. Probably looked like those ribbons they put on fans at Wal-Mart! Anyway, in the midst of the panic, I pushed myself off the window sill and broke the glass in the pane. I lost my hold when I heard the glass shatter and my arms went limp. I fell – not unlike the guy from the ABC Wild World of Sports “Agony of Defeat” thing – through the window.

I knew I had ripped my pants because I felt it as I fell. What I didn’t know is that I had ripped a 3 inch long gash in my upper left arm. I had decided to suck it up and walk to a neighbor’s to borrow a phone when I felt something trickle down my arm. I followed the trail of blood to the afore mentioned gash and at the sight of it, I fainted…in the middle of the street…where cars drive! When I came to, a cop was hovering over me with the mistaken impression that I had been assaulted. (I wish) So when I explained what happened, he put me in his cruiser and took me to the hospital, where he stayed with me until my parents could drive from Tulsa. When the ER doc came in, all I remember him saying was, “Oh, God. We’re going to need a surgeon!” I just burst into tears knowing that my arm was about to be amputated! Fortunately, not the case. After 144 stitches and a skin graft, I was able to return to my humble mobile home – complete with broken window and still in need of a good mopping – for a nice long nap.

I might add that about a week later, the cop stopped by to check on me and we ended up dating for a brief time. That was the last time I liked the police.


February 27, 2009 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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