- Sep 30, 2006
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Some years ago, I am working evenings as a programming instructor at a trade school. The receptionist, I'll call her "Susie," is a knockout blond. So, naturally, I ask her out for a Saturday night date.
After dining and dancing to the wee hours, I ask Susie if she'd like to come to my place for a nightcap. She says, "Yes," and I think, "YES! YES! YES!"
At the time, I am renting a room in a 5-level house on Seattle's Queen Anne Hill. The front door is on the 2nd floor from the top.
We proceed down a half-flight of stairs to the living room, through the kitchen, down another half-flight, down a hallway past my room, and down another half-flight to the rec room.
I get her settled, put a jazz LP on the stereo, and tell her I have some champagne chilling and that I will be right back.
I go back up the half-flight, down the hallway, up the next half-flight, and get the bottle of champagne and two chilled glasses from the refrigerator.
Now, I go back down the half-flight and down the hallway. By this time I'm so excited that I'm almost skipping. When I go down the last half-flight, I forget about the low beam at the foot of the stairs. SMACK! I hit my head and I'm out like a light.
When I come to, Susie is nowhere around. The champagne bottle is intact on the carpet and the glasses are unbroken. I've been out for a while, because the jazz LP is no longer playing.
The following Monday, I go to work early so I can talk to Susie before she gets off shift. When I walk through the door, Susie looks up, sees me and turns pale white. An absolute look of terror is on her face.
"I thought you were dead," she says. "I walked home."
"Didn't you check my pulse to see if I was still alive?"
"Are you kidding? I don't touch dead people!"
After dining and dancing to the wee hours, I ask Susie if she'd like to come to my place for a nightcap. She says, "Yes," and I think, "YES! YES! YES!"
At the time, I am renting a room in a 5-level house on Seattle's Queen Anne Hill. The front door is on the 2nd floor from the top.
We proceed down a half-flight of stairs to the living room, through the kitchen, down another half-flight, down a hallway past my room, and down another half-flight to the rec room.
I get her settled, put a jazz LP on the stereo, and tell her I have some champagne chilling and that I will be right back.
I go back up the half-flight, down the hallway, up the next half-flight, and get the bottle of champagne and two chilled glasses from the refrigerator.
Now, I go back down the half-flight and down the hallway. By this time I'm so excited that I'm almost skipping. When I go down the last half-flight, I forget about the low beam at the foot of the stairs. SMACK! I hit my head and I'm out like a light.
When I come to, Susie is nowhere around. The champagne bottle is intact on the carpet and the glasses are unbroken. I've been out for a while, because the jazz LP is no longer playing.
The following Monday, I go to work early so I can talk to Susie before she gets off shift. When I walk through the door, Susie looks up, sees me and turns pale white. An absolute look of terror is on her face.
"I thought you were dead," she says. "I walked home."
"Didn't you check my pulse to see if I was still alive?"
"Are you kidding? I don't touch dead people!"