What Kind Of Plant?

A houseplant? Nope. I am not good with houseplants. I am the stuff of nightmares for houseplants. I am a monster when it comes to houseplants. It would be more kind to dump bleach in the pots and kill them quickly than to have them share space with me.

A plant manager? Not that either. I am not good at management. I worked in management for five years and hated it. Being a manager is too peoply. Also, if you are in management, then you for sure are going to be involved in conflict of some sort. I hate conflict. I loathe confrontations of any kind. I would rather wear Spanx every day for the rest of my life than have a confrontation. Maybe. I have to think about that one.

Robert Plant? I like Robert Plant. I love to sing along to Robert Plant. Robert Plant would probably put a hit out on me if he heard me singing his words. I am tone deaf and pretty sure if I sing long enough, I could actually set a person’s ear drums on fire. Okay, that’s not true. I exaggerate. Although, I do make Randy cringe sometimes.

Plant a seed? No again. The first year we lived in this house, I started trays and trays of annuals before spring. I was going to have a backyard bursting with color. Small woodland creatures would be my friend and I would finally end my plant killing spree. I planted rows of different types of flowers around the koi pond when the broke ass koi pond was not broke ass. I did not plant sunflowers. Not a single sunflower was planted around my koi pond. However, the only thing that grew around my pond was dozens of giant sunflowers. I still have no idea how I managed to do that. They never came back.

No, I am not talking about those kinds of plants.

I want to talk to you about face plants.

I am not graceful. It would be fair to call me a klutz. I have fallen, given myself concussions, had stitches multiple times, and we could talk about burns all day long.

Last week, as I got ready for work, I walked headfirst into my bathroom door. I hit it hard enough to see stars. I went downstairs, told Randy, and he examined my head.

Randy: Yeah, you have a nice little knot on your head.

Me: Great. Now I get to go to work and tell people I ran into a door.

My office mate laughed when I told her that. She said that she knew me long enough to believe 100 % that I ran into a door.

After hitting my head, I went out to my car and was situating my stuff in the passenger seat. I didn’t notice that I had tilted my coffee mug and was pouring a stream of coffee into my left coat sleeve. I didn’t notice until the warm coffee hit my armpit. After I moved my arm, coffee cascaded over my arm and dripped through my fingers. So, I was backing down my driveway while trying to shake the coffee out of my coat.

Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve spilled coffee in my own armpit. 

Anyway, these acts of klutziness paled in comparison to yesterday.

Yesterday, I had a meeting with my boss and the VP of operations. We were in a phone conference with some consultants and it was terrible. I hate meetings. They are boring and my boss’s office is always too hot.

After an hour of torture, it was time to leave.

I got up and my foot hooked around the chair leg.

I launched across the floor in a spectacular, awkward face plant.

You guys, I didn’t just trip a little. I went down on one knee, then pitched forward into a full on face plant. I missed a conference table by mere inches.

My knee and shoulder were instantly on fire. My boss and the VP of operations gasped and asked if I was okay. I got up on my knees and said “Ta da”.

I wanted to scream at them to get out and pretend they didn’t know me, but I decided that would be unreasonable.

My face is turning purple thinking about my fall. I wasn’t just embarrassed, I was that “hot, swimmy, I wish the world would swallow me” embarrassed. My fall was this crashing body slam into the floor. The plastic cup in my hand was obliterated, but thankfully empty. At least, I didn’t turn my humiliation into a wet T-shirt contest.

I walked into my office, put my head on the filing cabinet, and whined to my office mates about the face plant. They were supportive. Well, if we can agree that “supportive” means “they laughed their asses off”.

We have a new co-worker in our room who sits in the cubicle next to me. She is in her mid twenties and a lovely woman. She tried to make me feel better.

Coworker: I think it’s endearing that you’re a little clumsy.

Me: It’s endearing when someone young and adorable like you is clumsy. When someone old is clumsy and they fall down, it’s not endearing. It’s sad and uncomfortable for everyone involved.

So, I’m a little sore right now. My knee is skinned up and bruised, but not as much as my pride. I don’t think I injured my shoulder, but it is definitely pissed.

My coworkers made a sign and taped it to my cubicle. It’s a little yellow minion dude laying face down which says “I didn’t fall. The floor looked sad and like it needed a hug.”

It’s actually been worse, though. I’ll have to remember to tell you guys about the time at my last job when I launched a piece of cake that landed between my boobs.

Oh, and thanks for the help with naming our little kitty. We’ve settled on Alfie. Alfie the kitty is curled up behind me sleeping as I type this. 

36 Thoughts.

  1. I feel your pain and humiliation, Michelle. I did a face plant in the Trader Joe’s parking lot this past spring. Basically fell out of my shoes (platform slides) which I haven’t worn since. Nothing broken, thankfully, except my sense of invincibility (but at this age, it’s pretty much shot anyway). The solution is to be more mindfully present and aware of where I am and what I’m doing. Some days I’m more successful than others. Stay safe. And upright.

  2. Does it count as a face plant when it was Great Dane precipitated? He took off, I couldn’t keep up, tripped over a curb, and hit my cheek on the edge of the curb. 3 ladies who were out walking stopped in concern, when really I just wanted to lay there for a moment. (Although I am grateful the one prevented Bogie from walking out into traffic). The best part? I went to a job interview with an amazing black eye. Did you know that people who don’t know you won’t ask what happened? Still got the job. (Because I knew the boss, who did ask and laughed his ass off.)

  3. A) I hope all your bruises and bangs heal up very quickly. (an aside, why don’t our injuries mend as quickly as TV heroes, vampires and such? NO FAIRS!)
    B) we, most def, are from the same fucking tribe! I can trip over a nonexistant dust mote. Yes, I am brilliantly talented like that. Old too.

  4. I’m being totally “supportive” over here. 🙂 But I feel your pain. I saw a meme recently that said “I’m Team Random Leg Bruise.” That about sums up my life.

    I’m a tiny bit disappointed that Stormageddon didn’t make the final cut. But Alfie is adorable, and really, cats don’t need badass names to be badass, do they?

  5. Oh gosh, that sounds awful. But you also made it so funny. That’s a gift.

    At least you have the kitty. Hooray for Alfie!

    (I did like Lucifurry though, next time a friend is looking for a name for a black cat I’m throwing that one in the ring).

  6. Whenever I’m doing something normal and get flustered and turn it into a big clumsy production–actually I could have just stopped at “doing something normal” because that always happens–I describe it as “Mr. Bean does…”
    Yeah, I’m neither as funny nor graceful as Rowan Atkinson, but it takes a little of the sting out of looking like an idiot to pretend I’m really bumbling around for the amusement of, well, thankfully nobody most of the time.
    Anyway I hope you can use this technique, that it will help you feel better to tell people, “I’m not falling, I’m performing!”

  7. That settles it, we are definitely related. We should start a support group, sisters of the klutz clan, or maybe not, that sounds a bit too close to a certain bunch of pointy hatted, sheet wearing nutters.
    Apart from a skirt that decided to fall down, on my first day of a new job, whilst the boss was taking me round to introduce me to everyone, I also frequently fall over, walk into doors cupboards or corners of tables, cut myself with mystery objects and usually have at least several unexplained bruises.
    Some of us need bubble wrapping to survive life!

  8. I haven’t done any spectacular pratfalls for a while, but I have done my share. Even leaving aside the two-wheeled shenanigans I was up to when I was young, I still have a blooper-reel full of, uh, great memories. I think my favorite was the swing-door incident: I was on a delivery route for Tumbleweed, the natural foods distributor I worked for, driving a 15′ box truck with swing doors on the back (instead of the usual roll-up variety), when I found a lucky parking spot directly in front of the trendy little cafe I was delivering a bunch of Kettle Chips to. The cafe had sunny little sidewalk tables, and as it was a sunny morning, they were packed, swarming with trendy people, and the cafe staff trying to serve them. I climbed up into the back of the truck and as that part of the road was far from level, the uphill swing door swung shut behind me, hitting me right on my butt and throwing me off-balance. I grabbed at a box in front of me to get my balance back, but Kettle Chips are very light, and I only managed to pull the stack of them over and fall backwards out of the swing doors onto the road behind the truck beneath an avalanche of Kettle Chip cases.
    Now, if I were writing this as a screenplay or something, the crowd would have done something interesting, like, say, breaking out in a round of applause, but this is plain, old reality, and what they did was fall utterly silent and stare at me. Finally, a waitress asked me if I was OK, and I told her yes, thank you, I’m OK, but can I please use your sink to wash this oil off of my hands before I handle your order or paperwork?
    If you didn’t know that Kettle Chip cases don’t weigh much more than the cardboard they’re made out of, you would probably think I was dead, but no-one moved or said a word. Except for the waitress, who if I remember correctly, was named Beth…
    So I hope your shoulder feels better really soon, and that you remember that there are legions of us Bozos out there doing all manner of clumsy things all the damn time.

  9. If anyone ever invented air bags for people, I’d be the first on line to buy one. Face plants aren’t fun. Nor are slides across the driveway on ice, or….happy to know I’m in good company.

  10. Member of the tribe here.

    Walk into doors, walls, tables every damn day.

    Rolly ankles have left me on the ground in more places than I can count (it’s super fantastic when it happens on vacation or on your way to your first day of work at a new job).

    Have recently discovered that I can manage to roll an ankle and fall flat on my butt in my own damn kitchen. While cooking.

    I have Ace bandages and instant ice packs stashed away everywhere — car, work bags, home, travel trailer. Can never have enough Ace bandages and instant ice packs.

    Oh, and stairs. I shouldn’t have any in or around my house, but I do, and therefore, I fall. Often. Fortunately, I only broke my leg once falling down those stairs.

    The struggle is real…

  11. It’s a good thing you didn’t mention cake boobs until the end; I’d have never remembered that your essay was about…. umm… err… give me a second…

    Oh damn! Now I have to go back and read it again.

    Or we could talk about boobs and cake… two of my favorite things.

    Or would that be three?

    I have you beat on the houseplant thing, sweetie. All I have to do is walk down the aisles of the garden department and Lowe’s and plants begin weeping, their tears smearing the ink as they write out their last wills and testaments.

    Tina has the green thumb in our household, not me.

    I have a cake thumb.

    Going back to the cake boobs…

    I did a six month internship at a large insurance company a few years back as part of the coursework for my Masters. The department I worked in celebrated birthdays each month and my sixth month there was also my birthday month, so obviously there was cake. Yay me!

    Somehow… I’m not exactly how it happened although I do share your “grace” when it comes to what comes naturally to others… I managed to “lose” a forkful of cake from the short journey between the plate and my mouth.

    You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?

    Yep… right between the ol 38Ds! That bite of delicious chocolatey yumminess found a home smack between Sophie and Claire. (What… doesn’t everybody name their “girls”?)

    Oh, but that’s not the best part… no… no… no.

    Before I could do anything… like slip away unnoticed to the ladies room and clean myself up… the woman seated across the table from me says… “You want me to get that for you, honey?” And… her tone of voice suggested that cake was not what was uppermost in her mind.

    Now, I’ve been “hit on” by straight girls and by lesbians my fair share and it is always a little flattering… especially when it comes from an older woman.

    So, no I was not offended or surprised at this obvious “come on”, but what did surprise me was the definite “gay vibe” I was picking up while chocolate frosting was melting its way down my front.

    I’d been working with Joan (not her real name) for the last six months and not once did my gaydar “ping”. But it was definitely pinging now!

    Not as embarrassing as your face-plant in the boss’s office to be sure, but on the “awkward meter”… right up there.

    So, I do feel your pain, sweetie.


  12. Oh that was funny (sorry). I have a tendency to fill whilst walking upstairs, I do it a lot. Plus I sleepwalk, which explains my random bruises. If any of this makes you feel somewhat less embarrassed.

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