Click the text to learn more about how to fall correctly on one’s ass.
It was a typical Winter Quarter day. I had successfully navigated my way through a harrowing obstacle course of ice-glazed steps and the revolving doors to Allison dining hall that are actually a small skating rink disguised as an entrance. With much effort, I had managed to contain the floods of salivation that had built up in anticipation of the delicious food I was about to devour.
But as that curmudgeonly lady with a permanent frown swiped my WildCARD, glowing in all its purple growling glory, something went wrong. I had already started to make a beeline for the stir-fry bar when she reached out with my WildCARD, and held my hand back nonchalantly, annoyed that my feast was being delayed. But she didn’t let go of my card. We engaged in a tug-of-war, and then disaster struck.
The tile floor, slick with slush trudged in by hungry students, was too frictionless to withstand my hurried efforts. All of a sudden I was no longer standing above my sullied boots — they were flying rapidly towards the salad bar in a vain attempt at traction. And there I was, in my favorite position: the sprawl. Ten gawky faces turned from their sizzling bamboo slices to stare at me from the stir-fry line.
With this new and enlightening experience under my belt, or at least under my flat-on-the-floor butt, I decided to sketch out a rough guide to falling. Because it happens to everyone — and even when you think no one is watching, someone is probably quietly chuckling at your mishaps. Yes, I am talking to you, wide-eyed boy who tripped down the Norris stairs and sent 80 books and papers sprawling everywhere. Don’t think you got away. But props to your beautiful disaster. You knew how to do it right.
Multimedia production by Alex Campbell.