Many years ago, long before 2.0 came into my life, I lived in a large apartment building overlooking the Halifax Common. I shared the building with a man I called That Hot Guy In The Wheelchair Who Lives Just Up The Hall. But because that’s a long name, we’ll just call him Brett. I saw Brett frequently, but always from a distance.
One afternoon, as I checked my mailbox in the lobby, I saw Brett rolling into the elevator. This is my chance, I thought. I’m going to get an up-close look at this guy. (To confirm hotness.) I waited for the elevator doors to close behind Brett, and then made a break for the stairs. I figured I could make it up to the second floor, casually meet him as he exited the elevator, and then continue on to my apartment at the end of the hall.
I ran past the first floor apartments, past the gym and pool, and headed into the stairwell. I took the stairs three at a time. I ran incredibly quickly. So quickly, in fact, that I beat the elevator up to the second floor. But because I didn’t know just how fast I could move, I also didn’t know that I had arrived on the second floor before the elevator.
When I burst through the door leading into my hallway, I couldn’t see Brett. You should know that Brett was very fast – almost as fast as this gal – and his apartment was situated right beside the elevators. I assumed I had missed him, and continued to run at full tilt toward my apartment. Super Speed Mode was now fully engaged. Unfortunately, this meant I was unable to slow down as Brett slowly rolled off the elevator at the mid-point of the corridor. Impact was inevitable. As I tried to swerve and avoid collision, I launched my body off the right side of his wheelchair, flipped through the air, and crashed into a wall. Hard.
Imagine his surprise.
Now imagine the sound my body made when it hit the wall.
I didn’t even get a good look at him. In hindsight, it probably would have made much more sense to ride up in the elevator with him, but that didn’t occur to me until four days later.