Early last evening I was giving my bike a quick ride around the block after lubing up the chain and gears.   Everything seemed to be in working order until I tried to shift once and the gear shifted four times, bringing my leg down quickly and unexpectedly.  My foot hit the ground, the bike came to a stop and I launched over the handlebars, skidding about four feet on the ground and scraping plenty of flesh on the way –

Jared saw it, walked up all zombie like, pretended to take a bite out of my arm and said "that's how you got that."

I spent about 30 seconds or more writhing on the ground screaming “FUCKING COCK FUCK COCK FUCK COCK FUCK FUUUUCCCCK” like a telegraph machine with tourettes (fuck=dash / cock=dot) when I noticed that I was right across the street from a fairly crowded Whittier park.  I sat up and noticed no fewer than 20 small children that abruptly stopped playing, staring at me and soaking in the profanity I let fly.  I struggled to my feet and said “I’m okay!” when a hispanic woman came running across the street.  I think she wanted to help.  Here’s how our conversation went.

HISPANIC LADY:  (unintelligible spanish)

ME:  Thanks, I’m okay.

HISPANIC LADY:  (more unintelligible spanish)

ME:  Yeah, I don’t really speak spanish but I’ll be okay.

HISPANIC LADY:  (even more unintelligible spanish)

ME:  Seriously, I’m okay.  I don’t know how to… I’m just going to go now.  Thanks.

Just as I turned around to leave, another older woman walked up to see if I’m okay.  She spoke english but proved no more helpful than the one who didn’t.

OLD LADY:  (examines the four foot bloody skidmark on the sidewalk and then my arm).  That’s a nasty scrape you got there.  It’s bleeding real good.

ME:  Yeah, I only live a block away so I’ll be able to get home real quick and clean this up.

OLD LADY:  That’s good.  Make sure you put something on it.

ME:  I got some alcohol at home so I’ll be fine.  I should go-

OLD LADY:  Or you could put some other stuff on there.  What’s that stuff called?

ME:  Hydrogen Peroxide?  I should really-

OLD LADY:  No, that’s not it.  What am I thinking of?

ME:  Neosporin?  Hey, I’m still bleeding so I’m going to go-

OLD LADY:  Wait, I almost got it.  It doesn’t sting like alcohol.

ME:  Bactine?  I’m going to just go home now because of the blood.  Thanks.

OLD LADY:  No, that’s not it either.

I just left after that.  About halfway down the block, I looked back and saw her still standing there, looking down with her hand on her chin, probably still trying to think of what that stuff was called.