on waiting, driving and walking.
late friday afternoon, michael stopped at my place.
he had wanted to drop some crutches he had gotten from his orthopedic surgeon a few weeks back after fucking up his foot back at his office. but the office had already been closed.
"could you drop them off for me on monday?", he asked me, "i'll be in bavaria next week, and really should have done this earlier. it's just down the street, too. so can you?"
"sure," i said. "in return, however, you have to promise that you won't be 3 horus late next time we plan on going boarding, right?"
he laughed. and i told him i was dead serious. that i couldn't laugh about that shit at all. and that i've had enough really, with his constant lateness.
he promised he'd attempt to do better. i told him "attempting" wasn't nearly enough.
and then i noticed his breath, the dark smell of alcohol. he had been out on the slopes with dirk that day. he had driven his car.
"fuck you, michael, you smell like booze. don't tell me you drove drunk with dirk in your car. did you?"
[there are few things i hate more than people driving drunk.
dirk's father died as a drunk passenger in an even drunker guy's car, when dirk was 5, on the first day of their first ever family holiday.]
he promised me he hadn't, and that he had just had a few sips of wine waiting in front of my door. (no, i won't get into how worrisome it is if someone has red wine from a bottle while waiting for someone in the snow.)
michael laughed that he was getting a full serve here, me complaining about everything right away, the booze, the unreliabilty.
"you know, i worry about you michael. yes, it's annoying hat you're always late. and it worries me that you smell like booze late in the afternoon when you've been driving around with dirk. don't you dare drive drunk with him in the car. if you ever do that, you'll see me more mad that you'e ever seen me before.
but i'll drop the crutches off, nonetheless. i'm your friend, after all."
i told him.
and that was that.
monday morning, i make my way to his orthopedic surgeons office, the red crutches in my hands. i've never been there before.
i walk into the office, the doc is sitting at the reception with a nurse. the waiting room is open and packed to the brim.
"so does you walk without crutches works again? the symptoms are gone?" the doc asks me, smiling broadly, as i make my way throught the door.
"oh yes, it does." i chuckle. "these aren't mine, after all, and i'm not your patient. i'm just returning these for a friend."
the entire waiting room erupts in laughter.
and the doc blushes, just a little bit, before laughing along.
life. very nicely absurd, sometimes.