If you're modestly sensitive about your weight -- and while I am only a tiny bit sensitive about mine, multiplied over the weight I do have that works out to being modestly sensitive -- then there's something insulting about being on an escalator which stops. This was just a matter of the escalator abruptly stopping when I was near the top. I figured it best to walk the rest of the way rather than wait for a rescue team. Curious about this was that the escalator on the floor below had a sign apologizing for it being out of order, even though it was running just fine to this untrained user's eye.
This wasn't my weekend for escalators, between this minor brush with death -- well, this tossing of me forward and forcing me to figure out my balance when I was thinking about something else which I don't remember now -- and the one yesterday. That time I'd put my right foot too far forward, and as we got to the top and the stairs folded together it started chewing my sandal. I was able to wrestle it free before reaching the top or being pitched forward, happily, and while it chewed up the rubber front of my sandal it didn't separate the rubber part from the fabric cushion which my foot actually rests on, so it just adds a bit of character to the sandal.
Thousands of people are injured on escalators every year, of course, including gafennec one year, so I'm trying to not get too casual about the hazards presented. Please don't tell my mother, as she's building a phobia about escalators that makes her take upwards of a half minute to step on to one. Still, it's given me a new appreciation for the warnings signs about escalator safety posted at the Harbourfront MRT, particularly the warning that ``five of ten people injured on escalators were not holding on to the handrail'', which does not make the compelling case for handrails as a safety device that I believe they had intended.
On a coincidence I noticed the Peanuts strip-a-day calendar this Sunday included a reference to the Johnstown Flood. If I'd known I could have timed my reading better.
Trivia: When he left the White House in 1929 Calvin Coolidge became a newspaper columnist, for which he was paid one dollar per word. Source: Anxious Decades: America in Prosperity and Depression, 1920-1941, Michael E Parrish.
Currently Reading: Coal: A Human History, Barbara Freese.