This post was originally Published April 3, 2006
I wrote this story in an e-mail for a co-worker back in December 2003.
Background on the story: During the summer of 2003, I was biding time waiting for a job in my field to open up and not wanting to get a “real” job only to have to leave it when my dream position opened.
I painted houses. Exterior. 34-foot ladders. 85 degree weather. Often by myself. One time, I was working by myself on the second story of a house in Merrimack. I’ll wrap up this preface by saying that the ladder came down on the wooden deck with me on it. The corner of a garden style window basically impaled my abdomen on the way down and I had to get 13 stitches. I now have a pretty scar on my belly. (But at least I got a friend out of the deal. Thanks, JD.) Needless to say, I wasn’t thrilled to be getting back onto ladders for the rest of the summer. The story below took place a couple weeks after the accident. Continue reading