It was Friday. Although it was not Friday the 13th, it may as well have been.
My work, on this Friday, took away me from my warm office and to a home constructed by the company for which I work. The home was recently completed and needed to undergo an energy efficiency evaluation. The appointment was set up for me to meet the Evaluator, from Manitoba Hydro, at this home on Friday afternoon. Seeing that the home owner would not be home, it was also pre-arranged for the father of the home owner to open the door to allow us to gain access. Yada yada yada, the test was complete and everyone left. Everyone, that is, except me.
See, at our company, we try to work somewhat efficiently. Therefore, since I was going to be there watching some dude hook computer things to other computer like things and tippity tap the keys of his laptop, I thought I could do some real work. I finished the inside stuff and, being dliligent like I usually am, proceeded to lock the home, securing it from would-be invaders. Although I had completed the inside tasks, there remained one more task, an issue on the roof. Having much foresight, I brought a ladder along. I set up the ladder, and scaled the chilly metal rungs and finally set foot where few men had been before. As I began to journey across the ashpalt covered surface, I heard an unfamilar sound, a sound eerily similar to that of a ladder falling to the ground. As it turns out, the Wind chose to prank me and took down my ladder. Not being one to panic, I completed my task before considering the implications of the horizontal ladder. All the while, I swear, I could hear the Wind chuckling to himself.
I found myself stranded on the roof of a home, on the quiestest street in the quietest town, wearing only a thin, short sleeved dress shirt. (I would later discover my jacket was conveniently located in the warm garage, safe and sound, with the doors locked, and my truck keys nestled comfortably in the right pocket.) Now, with the cool fall air stealing my body heat faster than I was able to produce it, I began considering my options. I could jump off the roof. This thought was quickly dismissed because, truth be told, I am a scaredy cat. It should be noted that I did have a chuckle at that moment as I imagined the neighbours calling the fire department. "There is an Office Worker stuck on the roof." Tee hee, that would have been quite the scene with all the fire trucks rolling up, all these fine men getting out of their million dollar trucks, decked out in their fire proof garb. But that didn't happen.
I also considered jumping onto the hood of my truck, which was parked by the garage. Now, while this would have reduced the amount I had to fall by a few feet, I would certainly have smashed the stuffing out of the hood of the truck. I doubt the Insurance Adjustor would accept the story of one 250 lb hailstone falling from six feet above the truck. At that point, I decided that I would jump onto the hood of the truck just moments before I would succumb to hypothermia. Hopefully, it would be before.
After standing and looking at the quietest street of the quietest town in
I began to think of ways to pull the ladder back up. I considered my belt. Now, while my belt does encircle my vast girth, it is not long enough to reach down twelve feet. This is when the funniest of all thoughts came to my head. What if I were to strip down, tie all my clothes together, then reach down and hook the ladder and pull it up to the roof. Three problems immediately surfaced with this thought: 1. Although I have never tried, I cannot imagine having great success pulling a ladder with a whimpy cotton shirt, some dress pants, and a belt; 2. It was still cold on the roof and getting mostly naked was not going to improve that; and 3. IF someone were to drive by on this quiet street, I cannot imagine they would be too willing to stop and help a naked man on a roof on a cold day. Insane, they would think to themselves and look away. Now, if I were one of those Fire Fighter calendar guys, it may work to my advantage. But, alas, I am not one of them. While they've got six-packs, I've got a keg. So this plan of stripping down quickly flew away with the wind.
And so I waited. I hunkered down into the fetal position on the roof, trying to conserve my body heat. Suddenly, with the glow of an angel, a van approached. Quickly, I stood up and waved my arms eagerly. The man in the van kindly waved back. "No, no," I yelled out loud with hands, and the kind man stopped and rolled down his window. "Hey," I said, "do you think you could help me with my ladder?" The response was in accordance with the theme of the day. "I would love to, but I am in a wheelchair." Just my luck. But, before he could leave, I asked if he knew someone who could help me. So off he went to get help. A couple of minutes later, he was back with my saviour in the passenger seat. I didn't think saviours were supposed to laugh at you when performing rescue duties. But, hey, who was I to complain at this point.
In a minute, I was down on the ground, profusely thanking my saviour-dude. I joined the laughing and all was going to be okay. I cleaned up my ladder, secured it to my truck, and with a sense of victory, I climbed into the cab of the truck. That is when I realized where my jacket was.
