I’m madder than a slug in a salt mine over the fact that the city’s sidewalks and streets are so dilapidated that I can’t get from Point A to Point Z without my trusty steed Tornado bucking me off like some bronco that a 400-pound cowboy (that’s me) is trying to get busted!
Look, you all know the ol’ Screecher eats in more calories than he heats out — despite all the sweat on my brow — and as such is forced to use an electric device whenever I’m called out into the world to deliver yet another of my prophetic speeches to an adoring public.
And I’ve told you time and time again that it is becoming more an more impossible for me to travel not only because I have a tough time fitting through doors, but because the sidewalks and roadways my and your tax dollars pay for are not getting the funding they deserve.
So here’s the story of my latest brush with death, compliments of another of those sidewalk potholes that keep popping up in and around the Bensonhurst area — possibly because so many of us seniors now choose wheels on the sidewalk over feet!
I was cruising home from the Coney Island Memorial Chapel at 1901 Mermaid Ave. with my lovely wife Sharon on the handlebars when we got to Stillwell Avenue a few blocks from the fabulous towers of Harway Terrace.
Now, as you know, the Screecer always looks down when he’s driving for the most obvious reason of all: money doesn’t fall up. But I was having a tough time seeing being that my bride was blocking my view, and I completely missed the gigantic crack in the sidewalk that we couldn’t have missed even if I had seen it!
“Carmine, look out!” Sharon screamed as we went toppling over!
Fortunatly, Sharon’s years of training on the balance beams paid off as she landed on her feet. But I can not — and will not — say the same for yours truly, who, once again, got trapped underneath my trusty steed like David Banner’s wife on that old Bill Bixby show. Unfortunately, Sharon has never been subjected to gamma radiation (unless you count that time we picnicked on the shores of the Gowanus), and she couldn’t get Tornado, who by now was resting comfortably on my chiseled body, off of me no matter how hard she tried.
Folks, this part of Stillwell Avenue is pretty desolate and we were looking for somebody — anybody — to help me.
The worst part about it was my elbow was bleeding from the impact, and as I’ve said before and will more than likely say again there is nothing I fear more in life than my most-precious blood spilling out onto the streets!
Thankfully, a young couple came walking by, heading to their car nearby, which is yet another reason I’m all for free parking on the streets like they have in the Monopoly game. At the same time, another woman wearing some kind of security uniform came over to help.
Of course, and as always happens, they try to lift me up first without first removing the scooter from my person.
“Wait!” I screamed. “Tornado! Tornado!”
Sharon then explained to them that I wasn’t warning them about some seriously inclement weather headed our way with a thick Spanish accent, but instead wanted my trusty steed righted.
In unison they lifted Tornado from my body, and set him upright. They asked if I was all right and threatened to call 911 seeing that I needed a Band-Aid.
I told them to just get me on the scooter, which they all did, with one of them saying is was akin to lifting the RMS Titanic — the Titanic being me!
Anyways, I’ll once again use this space to give a big “thank you” to these wonderful caring strangers. Youse have renewed my faith in the human race.
Screech at you next week!
