After parking my car in a garage the other day, a very concerned woman frantically calls me over. From her actions, I think someone has died. I was right...almost.
Freakazoid: Sir. Sir. SIR! Can you come over here, Sir?!
I start reaching for my phone to call 911...she is at the point of hysteria.
Me: What's wrong?
Freakazoid: Can you save this lizard?
And I look down on the ground...and there is a five-inch long lizard lying lifeless in front of me. I stare at the lizard for about five seconds...look back up at the lady...and back down at the lizard. All I can manage to say is:
Me: Um...sure....but I think he is dead.
Freakazoid: PLEASE...SIR. SOMEONE MIGHT RUN OVER HIM. PLEEEEEEEEEEASE!!!!
And I look around to make sure no one thinks I am trying to rob her.
Freakazoid: You see, sir...his tail has already been taken off. It is over there....but they can live without their tails.
This lady obviously knows a lot about lizards...and cares about them just enough to have other people save them for her.
So, I do what any man would do in such a situation. I start kicking the lizard to safety. *Kick....kick....kick*
And MAN...I am so glad I didn't bend down to pick it up...because as I start to kick the lizard (while listening to overly emotional praises for my help intermixed with another barrage of "sirs"), it ATTACKS me.
With each kick...the lizard...FANGS OUT...bites at my foot. *Kick* *Bite* *Kick* *Bite*
Me: Looks like he is still alive.
Freakazoid: Yes. Sir. They can live without their tales.
Yeah. You said that already. I end up kicking the lizard a good ten feet...his fangs flying at me accompanied with loud hissing. *HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS* I presume I saved his life...or prolonged its agony...who knows.
It was at this point I realized why this lady cared so much about this lizard in the first place. It was in the way of her getting into her car. Problem solved, she gave me a Thank you, sir. Thank you. Thank you, sir. And drove away to the sound of hissing in the background.
I was walking to La Jolla cove the other day, my swim bag on my shoulder. It was heavy because it had a towel and my wetsuit inside of it. Two men were playing Frisbee and kept throwing it high into the air. Very, very high.
This combination of me watching this high-thrown Frisbee and the weight of my bag was a bad combination. I tried to move the strap on my shoulder and got distracted...
My hand slid away from my strap, and my fist punched myself directly in my jaw.
I staggered. I heard a ringing. Blood started coming out of my mouth. I seriously landed a hard right...ON MYSELF.
As my teeth throbbed, I stumbled on my way.
Thinking...Man...I can really take a punch!
Who can make lemonade out of lemons?