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I Hate Tuesdays Too! |
| Written by Murray Brown | |
| Wednesday, 28 March 2007 | |
Tuesday actually started out to be a really great day, the culmination of considerable effort and concentration mixed with a healthy dose of pure fear. For some time I had been feeling a bit depressed with middle age having arrived unannounced and after suffering my despair in silence for some time my wife finally attacked. “For God’s sake! Why don’t you get off your fat, lazy arse and get out and do something exciting. It might take your mind off your age and will get you out from under my feet.” I stalked out in an offended huff and retired to the pub, drowning my sorrows in a couple of pints. I was leaning on the bar reading a newspaper that some previous customer had abandoned when it leapt off the page and hit me right between my eyes: “Parachute Jumping. The ultimate thrill and adrenaline rush.Classes starting soon. Contact blah blah blah…” I couldn’t phone quick enough and I was soon registered as a trainee and eagerly anticipating the beginning of my life-changing activity. When I told the dragon what I had done her scornful laugh cut me to the quick and when she went on to point out the danger involved to an elderly codger like me I began to have second thoughts. Unfortunately I had given the bloke on the phone my credit card details and a sizeable deposit had already been extracted. There was no turning back. A few days later I showed up for my first lesson and joined another couple of blokes who both seemed a lot younger, fitter and harder than me but I sucked in my gut and acted tough. The tutor turned out to be a fellow of about my age and he seemed to know what he was doing. After taking us through a detailed description of what a parachute was and did he explained what our course would consist of and what he expected of us. It didn’t seem too bad. How naïve I was. Three times a week for two week I arrived home stiff and sore and aching in places that I didn’t know actually existed on me. Our tutor had a very penetrating and grating voice and he seemed to like the sound of it. I ******* didn’t and after the first two lessons I was beginning to hate him with a fervour that I hadn’t felt for years. His favourite philosophy that he drove into us unceasingly was: “Three things to always remember and live by are: 1. Never Panic ! 2. Always Think before Acting ! 3. Ask lots of Questions !" He seemed determined to drum this into us until it became second nature and the sound of his voice bleating this out nearly drove me crazy. We got fitter and, I suppose, harder but with all my aches and pains it was hard to be sure but I suppose something was happening as I began to recover a lot quicker near the end of the course. When he convinced me to jump off the perfectly safe deck of a perfectly good and safe truck to teach me how to roll on landing I knew that he had taken over completely. I was committed and couldn’t see any manly way out. Finally it was Tuesday and I had taken a day off work to make my very first jump. Sadly the day dawned sunny and clear with very little prospect of wind – a perfect day for parachuting. What a bummer! My last hope had faded. With my jump suit on, a bulky chute strapped to my back and a smaller one resting on my chest I found myself walking across the grass to the small fragile looking plane that was squatted there, waiting, looking ominous. Being the last one to jump I was in first and awkwardly settled myself as far forward in the cramped compartment as I could manage. Maybe they wouldn’t notice me and I could stay in the plane. With a somewhat terminal feeling vibration and shaking the plane started up and began to move across the grass runway with increasing speed until the rumble of the wheels ended and we began to slowly gain height. It was a terribly noisy business, what with the door not being there, and it wasn’t too warm either. What the hell was I doing here? After what seemed like a lifetime we finally reached a height that everybody but me seemed happy with and the big moment had arrived. The tutor guided the first of the three of us out of the door to stand on the step and finally slapped him on the shoulder to encourage him to go. There was absolutely no way that I was going to look to see how he got on and I decided that it would take a damn sight more than a slap on the shoulder to get me to jump. The second of our happy group clambered out eagerly and jumped almost before the tutor directed. It was my turn and every bone in my body was telling me not to move but my quasi-macho pride forced me to the door. The sight took my breath away and for an instant I froze. Our beloved tutor almost manhandled me out the door and I am sure that he shoved me in the back. THE BASTARD! I was hurtling downwards and the cold air was whistling and making my eyes water. I counted to ten to make sure and then pulled the rip-cord.“Whoompp” looking up expecting to see a brightly coloured canopy I was horrified to see a tangled mess of cords and nylon. What was I to do?? 1. “Don’t Panic !” That was easier said than done but I didn’t go into a complete funk. 2. “Think Carefully !” Hmm… what would the tutor do? Pull the emergency rip-cord, that’s what. So I did:“Whoompp” another bloody streamer. This was not my day. 1. “Don’t Panic !” Don’t be so ******* ridiculous – of course I was panicking. 2. “Think Carefully !” What to do? What to do? Buggered if I know! 3. “Ask Lot’s of Questions !” That’s crazy! Who the **** am I supposed to ask? Looking down, watching the ground coming up to kill me, I suddenly saw the body of a man flying up towards me. “Questions” It suddenly became clear to me. “Hey You !” I shouted down, “Do you know anything about parachute jumping?” “Fuck All !” came the reply “Do you know anything about gas bar-b-ques?” And that’s why I am dictating this from my hospital bed and why I also hate ******* Tuesdays. Copyright 2007 Murray Brown {moscomment} |
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| Last Updated ( Saturday, 31 March 2007 ) |
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