BossLady's birthday is this weekend, so we took advantage of the monthly all-hands vendors/brokers/insurers/third-party-administrators/department meeting today and adjourned to a local restaurant for wine, beer, and appetizers. It was a very pleasant evening and a nice chance to see some folks I quite like but rarely get to see outside of the office. Plus I always like having the opportunity to convey the message Yay! I'm glad you were born and I'm glad for your continuing existence and for the chance to have you in my life!
As we broke up (and I swear, after no more than three glasses of wine) I offered to walk L, one of our vendor/consultant types, whom I quite like, to the Jack London Square Amtrak station — I mean, it's one of the routes I'd be likely to take home anyway (albeit rolling and not on foot) and it's a chance to spend some more time with somebody I like, so why not?
As we were walking along 7th Street, approaching the corner crossing towards the Salvation Army store, there were a bunch of police cars with their lights flashing, and a fire engine, and an ambulance, and all sorts of stuff. We looked over at it as we kept walking, me wheeling my bike, having a conversation about "well, the EMTs's body language looks fairly relaxed, so—"
Next thing I know I'm standing on the sidewalk next to a lamppost pressing a bloody tissue to my cheek while L is grabbing a Band-Aid out of her purse.
L made her train, and I made it home with no further blood. When I emailed to say I'd made it home safe & sound, she offered to back me up on any story I wanted to make up about us fighting off weirdos trying to steal our lunch money. Helluva gal, L. *grin*
I think I'm going to feed the cats, have a bite, and go to bed early.