Tim Chitwood: Things learned from a broken leg

Breaking your leg makes you careful about how much weight you put on things.

Like last week I’m limping into the Panera Bread at Bradley Park when the rubber pad at the far end of one of my cheap drugstore crutches blows out.

Turns out that beneath the rubber pad is the flat end of a plastic rod, which slides on slick surfaces. So for a couple of off-balance steps, the crutch slips and the heel of my broken leg slams against the floor.

One thing you eventually learn from breaking a limb is to refrain from public profanity, so I don’t shout what I’m thinking in a restaurant packed with people.

Lost in space

This misfortune followed my pulling up to the front handicapped space, for which I have a temporary permit, and finding someone without a decal blocking it.

Further inspection revealed a motorist with a permit was in the handicapped space, but a driver without one had squeezed into the blue-striped wheelchair access strip.

Bonus for me, the regular space next door was empty, so I took it. As I was staggering out of the car, a woman and three girls, all able-bodied, trotted out and got into the car blocking the wheelchair strip.

One thing I’ve noticed since I broke my leg is that people still ignore handicapped parking signs. I thought public service posters like “Don’t take a hero’s space” (for disabled veterans) and $500 fines for violators worked.

I was wrong, and that offends me, not as a temporarily disabled person, but as a cynic: What did I expect?

I have considered legal recourse for such blatant law-breaking. I could call 911, but would the offender still be there by the time a patrol officer arrived? Would I have to get the tag number, file a complaint and go to Recorder’s Court to testify? And if so, what’s the likelihood my other crutch will blow out on the way there?

One thing I’ve noticed since I broke my leg is that some government buildings aren’t all that handicapped accessible. You’d think they would be – the government enforces the Americans with Disabilities Act – but they’re not.

Some still have doors you have to pull open. The people working there will leap to your aid, if they see you coming, but if not, you’ve got to yank that door and get in before it slams shut on your butt.

So if I have to crutch my way to court just to get someone busted for taking a handicapped parking space, it’s probably not worth the trouble.

Fashion forward

One thing I learned from breaking my leg is that you really need to weigh the possible consequences of your actions, before you act.

I’ve acknowledged breaking my leg by jumping over a barbed-wire fence my wife and I were repairing. I have not said why I didn’t climb through the wire:

I tried to, but my T-shirt snagged.

The T-shirt was vintage swag from a Columbus “Voyage to Discovery” down the Chattahoochee River, an expedition based on the belief boat trips from here to the Gulf of Mexico (or just to Eufaula, where I disembarked) would be the next big thing in tourism.

So we thought, 20 years ago.

I did not want to tear the shirt, so I walked to where a wooden corner of the fence crossed a creek, climbed up the short side (four to five feet) and jumped off the long one (six to eight feet), and broke my leg.

Why? So I wouldn’t tear my T-shirt.

One thing I’ve learned, since breaking my leg, is that a thing is only a thing, and you shouldn’t put too much weight on it.

This story was originally published July 31, 2016 at 3:29 PM with the headline "Tim Chitwood: Things learned from a broken leg."