I fell off a ladder last night. Or, I should say, the ladder fell out from under me.
The fact that it collapsed underneath me was not completely surprising, given the fact that it was sitting on concrete, and that the bottom was worn nearly smooth after months and months of scraping along the floor. I should've known it was going to happen. Affixing it permanently to the floor was on my To Do list. But it's just another one of those things that get forgotten over time, taking things for granted, assuming things that worked in the past will always work the same way in the future.
It's the kind of assumption that makes people dead.
Luckily for me - lucky! - it didn't turn out that way this time. I just ended up with some bumps and bruises and cuts from landing on things that were not designed to be landed upon, like engine lifts and exhaust pipes and other detritus of car repairs. And some bruises to my ego. Which don't count for much anyway.
The really stupid thing was that I was only up on the ladder because I needed to put a big cardboard box up in the loft. I'd been cutting up all the other cardboard for recycle but this one particular box, the one that the big television came in, was a keeper. And it wasn't going to take but a minute to haul it up to the loft, and then I'd have the rest of the evening to start pulling the engine apart.
But I never got that far, owing to the fact that the ladder slid across the floor and became disconnected from the loft that was holding it up, and then gravity took hold and we both - ladder and I - were overwhelmed by our common attraction to the concrete floor and rushed toward it. The ladder beat me to it, but I made up for it by beating the ladder senseless with the back of my head. Or was it the other way around? Either way, I found myself lying on the floor with blood dripping out of my head - both front and back - intensely angry that my inattention had nearly resulted in my demise.
Never did figure out how I managed to gash the front of my head.
Cheryl and James attended to my immediate needs, with ice packs and damp cloths and medicines. And that was the end of any plans for accomplishing anything in the garage that night. I was too sore, both physically and mentally.
Oh, well. The family time made up for it. I sat on a comfy chair in the living room with an ice pack on my head and watched Charade with the family. Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn and Walter Matthau and James Coburn and George Kennedy. Such a great movie. Almost enough to make me forget about the pain in my head.
Later, at bedtime, I had to sleep sideways with an ice pack on my hip - it was swollen up pretty bad - but managed to make it through the night. Thought I might have to head over to the doctor's office in the morning if the swelling didn't go down; but by morning, I was feeling quite chipper and ready to go, none the worse for wear, and went right off to work.
Kind of disappointing that no one asked me how my evening had gone. I had the story all ready to tell. But everyone was distracted by important matters such as meetings with customers and schedules and budgets and spreadsheets and other things like that which bore me silly.
All day long at work, all I could think about was getting back into the garage and finishing up the work I had been planning on doing. And what work was that, you ask? Why, taking the exhaust system apart, of course!
See that long snaky thing? That's the exhaust system. It's very rusty. The bolts are practically welded to the nuts. Near impossible to separate 'em. Comes from the high heat inherent in the system, and the copious amounts of salt that get spread all over the roads up here come winter time. Salt has a nasty reaction with metal. Accelerates the oxidation process. Causes bad rust. Which explains why you don't see a lot of old cars up here in Michigan. Most of 'em rust away to nothing by the time they're twenty years old.
My plan is to de-rust what I can on the exhaust system, replace the bolts as best I can, and get it ready to put back on so by the time the engine is fixed, the exhaust system is ready to go, too.
Might take a bit longer than I thought, though. Either the ladder or my thick skull whacked part of the pipe pretty hard and busted it right where it goes into one of the catalytic converters. Guess that means I'll be needing to borrow someone's arc welder so I can make some repairs.
Oh, well. There's a few other spots on the body that need some welding, too, so now's a good a time as any to take care of 'em.
Meanwhile, I got me a pretty pile of exhaust system parts next to my workbench, and maybe when we get back from our little reunion trip, I'll make short work of the rest of the engine repairs and get this thing back on the road quicker than you can say "Subaru".
I sure do hope so. Because as soon as the one gets fixed up, I'm going to need to park the other one for a spell so I can swap out the bad transmission for a good used one, so these boys of mine have a reliable car to get 'em to work and back. Especially in the coming winter.
Here it is July, and I'm feeling the chill of winter coming on. Isn't that just like a Michigander?
The fact that it collapsed underneath me was not completely surprising, given the fact that it was sitting on concrete, and that the bottom was worn nearly smooth after months and months of scraping along the floor. I should've known it was going to happen. Affixing it permanently to the floor was on my To Do list. But it's just another one of those things that get forgotten over time, taking things for granted, assuming things that worked in the past will always work the same way in the future.
It's the kind of assumption that makes people dead.
Luckily for me - lucky! - it didn't turn out that way this time. I just ended up with some bumps and bruises and cuts from landing on things that were not designed to be landed upon, like engine lifts and exhaust pipes and other detritus of car repairs. And some bruises to my ego. Which don't count for much anyway.
The really stupid thing was that I was only up on the ladder because I needed to put a big cardboard box up in the loft. I'd been cutting up all the other cardboard for recycle but this one particular box, the one that the big television came in, was a keeper. And it wasn't going to take but a minute to haul it up to the loft, and then I'd have the rest of the evening to start pulling the engine apart.
But I never got that far, owing to the fact that the ladder slid across the floor and became disconnected from the loft that was holding it up, and then gravity took hold and we both - ladder and I - were overwhelmed by our common attraction to the concrete floor and rushed toward it. The ladder beat me to it, but I made up for it by beating the ladder senseless with the back of my head. Or was it the other way around? Either way, I found myself lying on the floor with blood dripping out of my head - both front and back - intensely angry that my inattention had nearly resulted in my demise.
Never did figure out how I managed to gash the front of my head.
Cheryl and James attended to my immediate needs, with ice packs and damp cloths and medicines. And that was the end of any plans for accomplishing anything in the garage that night. I was too sore, both physically and mentally.
Oh, well. The family time made up for it. I sat on a comfy chair in the living room with an ice pack on my head and watched Charade with the family. Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn and Walter Matthau and James Coburn and George Kennedy. Such a great movie. Almost enough to make me forget about the pain in my head.
Later, at bedtime, I had to sleep sideways with an ice pack on my hip - it was swollen up pretty bad - but managed to make it through the night. Thought I might have to head over to the doctor's office in the morning if the swelling didn't go down; but by morning, I was feeling quite chipper and ready to go, none the worse for wear, and went right off to work.
Kind of disappointing that no one asked me how my evening had gone. I had the story all ready to tell. But everyone was distracted by important matters such as meetings with customers and schedules and budgets and spreadsheets and other things like that which bore me silly.
All day long at work, all I could think about was getting back into the garage and finishing up the work I had been planning on doing. And what work was that, you ask? Why, taking the exhaust system apart, of course!
See that long snaky thing? That's the exhaust system. It's very rusty. The bolts are practically welded to the nuts. Near impossible to separate 'em. Comes from the high heat inherent in the system, and the copious amounts of salt that get spread all over the roads up here come winter time. Salt has a nasty reaction with metal. Accelerates the oxidation process. Causes bad rust. Which explains why you don't see a lot of old cars up here in Michigan. Most of 'em rust away to nothing by the time they're twenty years old.
My plan is to de-rust what I can on the exhaust system, replace the bolts as best I can, and get it ready to put back on so by the time the engine is fixed, the exhaust system is ready to go, too.
Might take a bit longer than I thought, though. Either the ladder or my thick skull whacked part of the pipe pretty hard and busted it right where it goes into one of the catalytic converters. Guess that means I'll be needing to borrow someone's arc welder so I can make some repairs.
Oh, well. There's a few other spots on the body that need some welding, too, so now's a good a time as any to take care of 'em.
I sure do hope so. Because as soon as the one gets fixed up, I'm going to need to park the other one for a spell so I can swap out the bad transmission for a good used one, so these boys of mine have a reliable car to get 'em to work and back. Especially in the coming winter.
Here it is July, and I'm feeling the chill of winter coming on. Isn't that just like a Michigander?
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