Don't Try This At Home

Summer 2001

There is a British TV program called Don't Try This At Home that Tim and I have watched several times. Wicked friends and edgy vindictive spouses write in assignments for their loved ones to confront something that they have some aversion to. Like worms, spiders, small spaces, or heights. Tim finds the program exhilarating, while I usually find dishes to wash or file my nails instead of watching these poor people quake in their boots. Recently some woman walked up the Brooklyn Bridge suspension cables and I might as well have been her from the state of my stomach. They often attach a TV camera to the helmet of the person so you can see their perspective. What have we come to when we consider this entertainment?

My adventure was nothing that would ever make this program, but for me, it was close enough. We have this balcony off our living room that has a fabulous view of the beautiful formal gardens in the courtyard. Part of our great view is due to the fact that we are on the sixth floor. Our washing machine is out on the balcony too - a common Chinese practice here. So, today I was doing laundry and a number of other things. Thought I would start a load and then hop in the shower. I kicked off my shorts and then thought, maybe I should keep them on to go out on the balcony. I stepped out in a thin t-shirt and running shorts, threw the sheets in the machine and turned around to come back in and...the door was closed. When I say closed, that means locked.. I jiggled it, tried to slide it, tried to force it, went to the bedroom window and it was tight too. It was 2:15 and the balcony is on the west side and it was sunny and about 95°F with 95% humidity and it was not a good scene.

I surveyed the entire courtyard and all the other balconies...not a soul in sight...as usual. As I scanned I tried to remember the word for help and any word that could communicate some semblance of my predicament- nothing surfaced, but there was not a soul in sight anyway. So there I stood, in the sun, with my t-shirt, old shorts and no bra, and the washing machine happily humming away washing our sheets. I looked over the edge of the balcony six stories down. Paul, who owns the balcony next to us had left the door to the hall open. If I could get over to his balcony I could at least get out into the hall and go find a phone and call Tim to get in the apartment. But to get to Paul's balcony I had to walk on this ledge holding onto a rusty fence, with just room for my toes and the balls of my feet.

I have always been a bit acrophobic. The thought of walking this ledge had my breath rate doing some new rhythm. I was petrified. I looked for any other way. Then I thought maybe I could break one of the windows beside the sliding glass doors. I found a metal pole and rammed it into the window and it just bounced off. I was amazed. I ripped out the little rubber strip around the window and tried again and again and then just gave up. It was walk the ledge or wait a few hours out there in the blazing tropical sun for Tim to come home. I took off my shoes and put them where I could reach them through the fence. Then I stepped up to the ledge and jiggled the fence. It was rusty and I wanted to make sure it wouldn't just give way under my weight. I shook it enough to make sure it would hold me, but not enough to shake it loose. I got out to the end and stepped around the edge - I was half way there.

There are those wonderful moments in life that we treasure that always seem to fly by. And then there are the less enticing ones that stretch time out forever. Well this one was a real time freezer. but at the same time there was some satisfaction in doing something I never would have otherwise. A sort of empowering thing. It was only four feet to the other balcony, but half way out I had to step around the end of the ledge to come back the other side. I was doing pretty well, had gotten around the ledge and then realized my t-shirt had snagged on a rusty spike. Help. I didn't want to have to walk through the development with a torn t-shirt, but I didn't want to fall into the ground floor neighbor's koi pond either. I think it was around that time the fountain in the courtyard got turned on and my eyes went out and I saw the courtyard from a new expanded perspective. I also realized that in order to continue I really needed to breathe. I think I had been holding my breath until that point. I finally got my t-shirt loose, then it grabbed in another place, got that loose, three more steps and I was there on Paul's balcony. The relief was unbelievable, what a rush. Is this why people do extreme sports? Like this is an extreme sport. I know this is light years from rock climbing without a lifeline but it is as close as I plan to get to the sport. But soon after the rush, I started to shake - partly due to being in the direct sun for a half hour and partly due to hanging off the sixth story with out the Don't Do This At Home safety harness.

I grabbed my shoes and set out for the condo where the cooks work. As I have said, I end up being fairly high profile here as I am about 10" taller than most people and of opposite coloring. Today add to that scantily dressed with rust smeared all over my body and I might as well have been from another planet. Fortunately I did not see anyone but the guards but when I got to the condo it was locked.

I had to find a phone. I went to a guard post. I couldn't remember “phone” in Chinese, so did some frantic pantomiming. Unfortunately I was also talking nonstop while I was pantomiming. I usually limit my speech with the guards to things they can understand. They are a really sweet bunch of guys that are always trying out their English on me and I try out my Chinese on them. This was the first real conversation, or at least one side of a conversation, I had had with one of them. I remember going on in quite an animated fashion about how I couldn't believe what had happened and how I could have fallen...He stared at me in amazement. I suddenly realized he was overwhelmed so said "It's OK, never mind" and walked off. There was a little motorcycle taxi across the street. I began to move in his direction. He had been watching my efforts at communication and did understand. He hurriedly pulled out his phone and thrust it at me.

I called Tim and asked him to send his keys so I could get back in the apartment. I thanked the driver and walked back home to find two cleaning women and three painters in the entrance working and chattering away. When they saw me it was dead silence. Usually I just speak what little I know of Chinese. At this point I only had some English words at my disposal. I saw their faces and all I could say was “I know, I know, I am a mess” and they responded by pointing out that I had rust stains smeared on my clothes and body. Somehow I found this hilarious and started laughing. They laughed with me. Or was it at me? Soon Afoo, my favorite driver drove up with Tim’s keys. I could see his wonderful big grin through the windshield. As he handed me Tim’s keys he gave me a big thumbs up and kept repeating “Jackie Chan! Jackie Chan!”