Tragedy... or Comedy?

The following tragic—or "tradgic," as the case may be—tales were recorded in my school journal. What do we think my fifth grade teacher's reaction was? Copious eye-rolling? Or laughing until she peed her pants, then reading the journal aloud to every member of her immediate family?

The first tale of woe is supposed to be written in an objective journalistic style. Please note: supposed to be.

November 2, 1988

Joe Hill

This tragic story begins on November 1, 1988 at about 2:30 P.M. when Sada, 11, got off the bus from Fairfax Elementary and walked to her house at 1888 So. Compton.

Sada realized no one was home but Joe, the handy man.

Just to clarify, Joe the Handyman was not by any means a permanent fixture in our household. He was an acquaintance of my dad's who was doing some sort of work in our kitchen, I don't remember what. Not really important for our purposes...

There were no cars there and the two doors (front and back) were locked but, she proceeded in ringing the two doorbells. Of course, Joe did not answer, which was what she expected as he did not live there. So she continued to buzz the bells which also consisted of playing "Mary had a little lamb" and "Heaven is a place on Earth" on them. She also claims to have banged on the gutter and thrown balls at windows.

Ooookay, so I thought Joe was in the house... Was I trying to ANNOY him into answering the door?

This went on until 3:00 P.M., when her father, Charles, 39, arrived home with her sister, Imogene, 9, her brother, William, 4, and her mother's baby-sitting charges, Joshua, 5, and Lawrence, 5. Apparently, the handy man, Joe Hill, while cutting a piece of wood with an electric saw tore off an inch of one of his fingers and cut three others.

Halle, 36, rushed Joe to Saint Luke's emergency room.

Charles later had to go home, find the finger, and bring it to the hospital.

I left out that it took my dad for-freakin'-evs for locate the finger—in fact, he initially overlooked it because he thought it was AN OLD PIECE OF POTATO. Unfortunately, that is eternally how I imagine severed phalanges to look.

Joe Hill's finger cannot be sewn back on.

But what's the real tragedy here? The fact that Joe lost part of his finger—or that I was left alone outside for half an hour and forced to amuse myself by playing Belinda Carlisle songs on the doorbell? I think we all know the answer to THAT.

But wait! There's so much more tragedy to come! It can happen anywhere, at any time. Even while you're waiting for the school bus.

12/88

Bus Stop Tradgedy

This morning, while waiting for the bus, somehow, a gift got into the street and was run over. Glass was splattered all over the street. Someone at our stop got the box out. It was a beautiful glass pitcher. We opened the card to "Mrs. Fentelli." It was from the Rennerts and Myers. So some of us volunteered to call them.

Because you know what a busted-ass pitcher in the middle of the street is? A mystery just waiting to be solved! And you best believe we were going to get to the bottom of it.

I am looking up "Fentelli" in the phone book. Genie [my sister, who was clearly not going to make it as a P.I.] never looked up Myers or called. I looked up "Fentelli" (it wasn't in there) and "Myers" (a whole "Myers" page, there is!), but I didn't make any calls.

Sherron had better luck. She looked up "Rennert" (only 3), found the number (so did I, actually), and called. She told the man (Sief) and asked if she should leave it at the bus stop for him.

Can you imagine how this phone call went down? "Well hi there, Mr. Rennert! I'm in fifth grade, and my friends and I found a smashed-up glass pitcher that you gave to someone. Uh, maybe. Anyway, you will OBVIOUSLY want this back. Should we leave its shattered remains at our bus stop for you?"

He said he didn't like the woman anyway; his wife wanted to send her the gift. He had no use for it. Sherron threw it out!

THE END

Oh my God, you guys! I can't believe he didn't want the beautiful broken pitcher back! DOUBLE the "tradgedy"!

But hang on, because the tragedy's about to get physical.

10/17/88

Golfing

I was in a golf cart crash. I went golfing with my dad. I was in a cart with his friend, Rob. We hit a tree.

Here's what I neglected to mention: I was the one driving.

The golf cart was unharmed, but my pride—and head—were wounded.
[p.s. I stole this image from Time. Don't sue me, please!]

My head hit the steering wheel. I fell out of the cart. I just lay there for a minute. I got up then, though.

For a second, all I saw was white, then I noticed the throbbing pain in my head. It seemed like my nose was bleeding, but it wasn't.

I think I may have been briefly knocked unconscious. That's some stellar first-time driving!

I didn't cry. Not until it was over and my dad drove up. I said, "Can I ride with you?" and started to cry.

So now I hurt:


* That already hurt.

Truthfully? I am still not a very good driver. However, I have never again driven headfirst into a tree. So at least I have that going for me.

10/88

Last Night

!!!UGH!!! Last night was bad. I guess you could call it a "bad night" like we say "bad day". Well, listen:

First, I had too much homework. (HINT, HINT).

Yes, it actually says that.

Then, since I did, my dad almost made me miss watching my T.V. shows. That was bad, since, they were SEASON PREMIERES. Finally, I agreed to do the dishes (My week, naturally) during commercials and take a bath after my shows. (9:00)

You guys, I was serious about my TV. At some point I even drafted a weekly schedule of all of the shows I liked to watch. You know, like ALF and The Hogan Family. How could I miss a single riveting episode?!

Must-see TV!

Well, I ran the bath-water (it could have been warmer) and got in.

I am sooo reaching.

Then it got bad. While washing my face, I got soap in my eye. I easily got it out. Well, I washed my hair and got shampoo in my eye, which really stung. I got out and it took me a while to get the shampoo out.

I tried to find an outfit for today (no skirts). I played with BABY [my guinea pig] and suddenly got a cramp in my leg. I went downstairs to take my medicine (I'd forgotten) and tell dad. Finally, I fell asleep.

It's amazing I lived to tell the tale, truly.

NEXT TIME: Whooo boy, after all the leg cramps and shampoo in the eye—uh, I mean, terribly horrible tragedy—you know what we need? A party! Or several parties, preferably involving Cool Ranch Doritos and multiple viewings of Hairspray.