My kids were in junior high and high school, and upstairs in their rooms as I cooked dinner one evening. I happened to look over at the kitchen table, and saw the grass clippers I had left there after using them that afternoon.
I thought, okay, take them to the garage, and put them in the bin where they belong.
Easy enough, right?
I stepped down from the mud room, and onto the first of three steps into the garage.
Then, something went wrong.
Since I was headed in the direction of my car when I fell, my body rolled underneath my Chrysler Fifth Avenue.
And wedged there.
I had landed on my left side, facing the steps, and managed to stuff my 5’8”, 135-pound body between the concrete and some auto part. Try as I may, I couldn’t squeeze out.
Arms folded in front of my body, clippers in my face, I began to laugh. Well, laugh as well as one can when their body is stuck underneath their car, and their arms are folded across their chest, while holding a pair of grass clippers in front of their face.
It was such a ridiculous thing to have happened, but here I was, having to call for help. No one saw me go out, and whatever was cooking, was doing it without my supervision. But I knew my family, and it wouldn’t be long before someone wondered what was holding up dinner.
The garage door was open, and although I wanted out, I had repeated visions of neighbors passing by, and not being able to find me, calling 911 to report the mysterious, muffled laughter of an (obviously) deranged person they thought might be calling for help.
Without much diaphragm support, I couldn’t cry out, anyway. What breathing I did was pretty much poured into the laughter.
I don’t know how much time went by before the door to the house opened, and my husband called out my name.
In my weak, laughing voice, I called out Help!
Where are you?
Laughing, I’m under the car.
What are you doing under the car?
I don’t know.
Whatever he did, worked, and I was freed.
I still don’t know how the fates set that one up, and how I managed to wind up wedged beneath my car, and with pointy grass clippers still in my hand. (And not in my body!)
I guess it’s the absurdity of the whole situation that makes me laugh uncontrollably every time I tell the story. Maybe you would have had to be there to see the humor in it; but it happened.
So, the next time you need to use your vehicle, remember to check to see if some woman is stuck beneath it. You never know.