A Piece of Pavement Pie

So I had a birthday recently. The original celebration plan was that Trish and I would meet after work at Elliott Bay Book Co., and I would get a birthday shopping spree (well, a minor spree, but still). For a number of reasons, we changed the plan at the last minute and decided to have a romantic dinner at home.

So immediately following work, I went down to the Pike Place Market and bought some wine, handmade cheese, fresh strawberries and peaches, smoked salmon, fresh bread and mini chocolate cheesecake. All the makings of a light summer dinner with my sweetie.

Feeling pretty good, I headed up for the light rail station at Westlake. I was walking north just before Pine Street on the west side of 4th Avenue, and I wanted to cross 4th Avenue to get to the Westlake Mall and the station entrance, but the walk light was starting to blink. So I cut the corner slightly and ran to get across. And in so doing I caught my foot on the rim of a tree planter and took a face first dive into 4th Avenue. In front of the rush hour traffic waiting for the light to change. Cheese, cheesecake and salmon spilled out of my bags onto the street. And the light changes. Horns honk. I am trying to catch my breath and figure out what just happened. I make it to my feet with half a dozen people asking right on top of each other, "Are you ok, buddy?" I grab my stuff from the street and hustle back to the sidewalk.

A quick check shows scrapes on my hands, no holes in the knees of my pants, but I can tell I did a number of my knees from the pain, and - thank God - the wine bottle was not broken. (Priorities, people, priorities). A woman walks up and asks me if I am all right. I tell her, quite honestly, that I am fine except for being deeply embarrassed. But it wasn't embarrassed enough.

It turns out I just had to keep going north on 4th and the station entrance was on my left. No reason whatsoever to cut the corner and cross the street and taste a little pavement birthday pie.