**UPDATED - SEE BELOW**
My neighbor is quite a character. His name is Podreberac but he goes by "pod". He is a Vietnam vet. I've talked about Pod before, but have to tell you about last night.
Pod got pretty trashed last night. You see, he and John (yeah, he's still there) thought it would be a good idea to tandem dive to the bottom of a bottle of rum. He hung out on our porch, as he often does, enjoying the conversation and friendly atmosphere that he can't find at home.
Derrick and I went to the video rental place to pick up some fresh flicks, Chris was jamming to some CCR and Pod was alone on the porch. Chris heard someone yelling for help, so he went outside to find Pod at the bottom of the stairs, trying to get up. He asked "did you fall down the stairs" and Pod replied "yeah, where the hell are my glasses?" John came to the rescue with a flashlight and they found his glasses, hauled him back up on the porch and sat him down.
When D and I got home, I heard Chris saying something about the nurse being a blonde. Huh? I was informed that Pod had had a great fall down the porch stairs. I went out to check him out and he had, indeed - Pod fell down and broke his crown. He had blood running down his face out from under his ball cap (Navy, of course). I asked him to come inside so I could see to patch him up. He insisted he wasn't hurt. After a considerable amount of coaxing and him refusing, I pointed out to him that he must have hit his head hard if he is passing up on a chance to have me dote over him. That got him moving. You see...Pod has a big crush on me and doesn't hide it.
He came into the kitchen and proceeded to miss the chair and land on the floor. Dear Lord. I picked him up, put him in the chair, removed his hat and assessed the damage. Yep, crashed and burned. He had abrasions high on his forehead with a gash, nasty abrasions on his cheek with a gash and an ugly gash in his eyebrow. I gathered up my supplies and went to work.
As I cleaned his wounds (removing a rock or two) with peroxide, he kept insisting that he wasn't hurt - seriously reminded of the Monty Python episode where the chap keeps insisting "it's just a flesh wound!" while limbs were being hacked off. Cement and skin just don't go together very well. He wasn't a very cooperative patient - kept looking at me instead of at the light where I needed him to look, kept trying to hug me, and kept dropping f-bombs (not allowed in my house - little ears!).
"Celti, I'm not hurt! Don't worry about me!" (It's just a flesh wound...)
"yes, you are...see the blood?" - show him blood on tissue
"did I really hurt myself?"
"Yes. Look at the light!"
"I need my fuckin' glasses"
"Hey, watch the f-bombs, look at the light!"
"you're so sweet"
"Stop hugging me!"
"I'm not hurt"
"hush"
"awww, fuck"
"Dangit, watch the f-bombs!"
Jab "Did that hurt"
"no"
"Dang, you aren't feeling any pain, are you?"
"nope"
"stop trying to hug me."
"I don't need bandages"
"Yes, you do. Hold still and look at the light"
"You're too good to me. I need a hug."
"Look at the light, damn it! I'll give you a hug when I'm done, okay?"
"Cool. Johnny, did I really hurt myself?"
"Yes, dude, you crashed and burned, man."
"Fuck"
"Pod, one more f-bomb and I'm going to kick your ass when I get done patching you up!"
I applied triple-antibiotic ointment and got him all patched up - had to use bandaids to stick the gauze pads on because I couldn't find the tape. Chris suggested duct tape, but I though better of it - not that Pod would care. I put his glasses and his hat back on, and gave him a great big hug.
"I'm sorry that you got hurt, Pod"
"I'm not hurt."
"aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrgh!"
I bet he was a hurtin' unit this morning.
***
I have a picture of Pod somewhere...can't find it, though. I'll take some pictures of his banged-up melon tonight and post them tomorrow.
UPDATE 10/7
Sorry folks, no pictures of the banged-up melon as I arrived home about 20 minutes too late.
Pod came over again yesterday as soon as Chris got home. He was already schnockered and said that he had been drinking all day. I have noticed that Pod has seemed a little unstable lately - a little less sure on his feet and wobbly. I think maybe his meds are out of whack or something.
So, even though he was told that he was now banned from the front porch, that's where he landed when he came over yesterday. You see, my porch is 6' off the ground, about 7 or 8 steps down to a plateau and then there are about 20 more steps to the street. Our front yard is, esentially, a big hill with terraces and stairs.
Very soon after his arrival, a neighbor came by on the sidewalk and stopped to say Hi to the porch-sitters, a common thing. Pod rose from his chair to greet him, and proceeded to, again, take a header down the stairs. This time, however, it was much worse - he took a large planter with him (oy! my plants!) and broke the bottom stair on his way down, completely knocking himself out!
HOLY SHIT! Chris, John, the neighbors, everyone saw it happen. He was out cold, bleeding from various new wounds and Chris said he thought he was dead. All the kings men could not put Pod back together again, so 911 was called. I arrived home to find an ambulance, a fire truck, and a police car completely blocking off the street in front of my house and a crowd at the top of the stairs.
I had to park in the neighbor's driveway, and came up the stairs to see the paramedics surrounding Pod, who was sitting on the stairs dazed and bleeding. "Pod, I told you to stay off the front porch, especially when you've been drinking!" The cop looked at me, confused, and I said "Hi, I live here."
The paramedics determined that he was ok, although quite inebriated, but he did need stitches in his ear. They helped him down the stairs and into the ambulance and took him away to get stitches. He didn't call for a ride home, so we are hoping that they put him in treatment or at least detox.
Oy Vey!
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