Night driving. Big dogs running free. Large bodies of water, especially the kind with large waves crashing against large rocks. The doorbell ringing when I’m not expecting anyone. Being a passenger combined with excessive speed. Little kids in shopping carts. Well, not the kids themselves, but the potentially dangerous situation they’re in, especially if their parents have wandered off and another child is pushing the cart or climbing onto it.
Talking to crazy people I guess is the worst. Because at first it’s hard to determine the degree of insanity involved and by the time I get it, the conversation is well underway and sometimes difficult to stop. A good example would be the guy who walked into the Vision Centre yesterday while I was minding my own business getting some paperwork done. He said he thought he had gotten something in his eye (I assume that would be the one he kept pointing at and blinking madly) and that this happens often in his particular work environment because there are foreign objects hurling themselves around in there. It could be dust or metal or dirt or who knows what. Did he not wear safety glasses I wanted to know. He pooh poohed the whole idea of eye protection. Not necessary when you can just wash it out. So could I do that for him. Wash it out. Where was my eye washer? I know about eye-wash stations, and we don’t have one. So I suggested he go to a medi-centre and get an actual doctor to look at it and flush out whatever might be in there.
Nope, he wanted an eyeball wash and he wanted me to be the one to do it. He had a really hard time being convinced that there was no equipment and no person, doctor or otherwise, on the premises that washed eyeballs at the moment. Then he wanted to know what I did personally to wash my own eyeballs. This is the point where I started to get nervous. Because eyeball washing is not something I’ve ever incorporated into my daily routine. So I didn’t know what to say except that I’ve never done that.
“What do you mean, you don’t wash the eyeballs? Why do you not wash the eyeballs? I only want the eyeballs washed, and you say you cannot do it!”
I think that’s the point where I just stopped talking altogether because what could I say that wouldn’t get me into even deeper eyeball hygiene hot water.
We stared at each other for a while and then he stomped off saying he would just have to go somewhere else to get it done and what kind of place was this with no eyeball washing. Phew.
And I guess that’s how I cope. Sit still, be silent, keep breathing, and wait for whatever it is to go away.
Why don’t you just shoot me and get it over with? What have I done to deserve two such deadly alternatives?
Free falling from great heights is not my idea of a fabulous time. Obviously I haven’t done either one of these things, so how can I be so sure that I don’t want to try them?
I’ve jumped from high barn beams into hay lofts because my siblings were doing it and it looked like it SHOULD be fun. There was definitely a rush, but for me it came after the landing. Before and during the jumps there was nothing but stone cold fear. And if it felt so good to be safe, why not just stay that way in the first place?
I guess I was not a very adventurous child and I’m an even less adventurous adult. I’ve never understood the urge some people have to put themselves in mortal danger – climbing mountains, driving race cars, diving deep into the sea.
Perhaps I will die by choking on a safe looking peanut butter sandwich and my epitaph will read “She Never Took A Risk” (and died anyway.) Or maybe just ‘she never had any fun.’ Hmmph. I’m going to the kitchen now to use sharp knives and handle boiling water. Later I’m going to take a walk on some sidewalks which are close to roads which often sport TRAFFIC!
Danger is everywhere. Why go looking for it? It can find you on its own.
Until this very morning I was completely unaware that I had already learned an extreme sport. It didn’t cost me a thing. Well, except maybe for some dignity, but that’s minor.
Wikipedia has lots of brilliant information on extreme sports – the kinds of asinine activities that involve high levels of danger; speed, height, physical exertion, wild stunts, uncontrolled variables (rocks, ice, waves, weather, terrain), and of course the huge adrenaline rush one gets because of the very real possibility of injury and even death.
I am not a big fan of any of those things. But I was rather intrigued to discover links to such things as ‘extreme ironing’ and ‘extreme croquet’. It seems that it is possible to make almost any activity “extreme” by doing it in some bizarre location and throwing out all the rules.
Been there and done that! We have a Bocce ball game at our summer cottage and no lovely flat regulation court on which to play it. So I really do believe our version of it could be classified as extreme. The dangerous terrain consists of rolling hills and rocks of all sizes and many many trees. Add a lot of bugs to that, depending on the time of day. Mix in some unpredictable small children, slippery moss, low hanging branches, the possibility of encountering wood tics, and smoke from the fire which could choke and blind you if the wind direction is right, and I think we have a SPORT going on here, and not just some wimpy game.
Before you dismiss this activity as highly unlikely to involve injury or death, consider the amount of alcohol that it is possible to consume during one of these events. I’ve never been hit in the head with a bocce ball, but the possibility of such a thing happening is definitely plausible. And who knows what perils could befall the idiot stumbling back to the house in the dark to get more ice. There are no doubt many more hidden hazards that I can’t even wrap my head around right now. Perhaps if the sport had some kind of rules about sobriety I could pay closer attention to all its lurking pitfalls.
So what the hell do we need sky diving for? Come on. Live dangerously. Break out those bocce balls and yes, if you dare, bring it on!
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