KEEPING A ROOF UNDER YOUR FEET

KEEPING A ROOF UNDER YOUR FEET, PART II

Last week, Mike showed his well-developed intelligence and got stuck on his roof. Unfortunately, his wife now knows that he is the roof, sans a way to get down.

So I sat up on the roof and stared down at my wife. My once-brilliant plan to lower the ladder down to the ground had not played out exactly the way I had planned.

"Seriously – what are you doing?" my wife asked me in what, I have to be honest with you, was not a very nice tone.

I explained that I was trying to look down into the chimney, and that it appeared that possibly I may not exactly and completely have a way technically off of the roof.

She stood there for a moment, possibly contemplating new places to live. Fortunately, her inner-humanitarian surfaced and she said, "Fine. What can I do to help?"

I told her that I just need her to set the ladder down right beneath where I would come down off the roof, and it would all be taken care of. She did as I asked, and I began to head towards the edge of the rood. A couple of reminders from last week: (1) the roof is quite steep and (2) the ladder is a six-foot ladder and the roof is about 10 feet high.

These two elements combined to create a scenario for descent that should be described as dangerous at best. While clawing my way into the shingles so as not to slide off the roof, I gingerly eased my way towards the edge. It is much easier to scurry up the slope of a steep roof than the gradually move down. Stupid gravity.

When I finally did get me leg over the edge of the roof, I called out, "Am I on the ladder yet."

"About four more feet," was the unfortunate answer. It was at this time that it became clear that the method for getting on the roof was not the method for getting off the roof. It was official. I was stuck on the roof.

The gears began turning. I had to get off the roof, and I had to get it done soon because, frankly, I was getting hungry. That’s when the epiphany struck. "Honey, move the ladder. I’ve got a plan. I’m gonna slide down on my belly until I get to the edge of the roof, and just drop off onto the ground. Piece of cake."

Because there may be kids in the room, I will not use the exact words my wife used to described my plan. Personally, I thought it was brilliant. But my wife would not give in:

ME: Look, if I slide down and dangle over the edge, it will only about a four foot drop.

HER: You’re an idiot. No.

ME: Please?

HER: No. And you’re an idiot.

After about 10 minutes of this conversation, my wife decided that she had better start doing the thinking, as it was my thinking that got me stuck on the roof in the first place. She told me to stay put, and that she was going to drive over to my parents’ house and get their long extension ladder. I pleaded with her not to do this, because my parents live in Boise.

No, kidding. My parents only live about three minutes away. But I did beg and plead with her to stay there. I told her I would be bored up there. She offered to get me a magazine. Seriously.

Truth of the matter, I knew that, if she were to leave me unsupervised, I would jump off the roof and have no one to drive me to the hospital to reattach my leg. I had to keep her there for my own safety. This occurred to her, too, and she opted to stay.

I convinced her to let me look for new and exciting ways to get down without killing myself. I scaled to the top of the roof, which, for a one-story house, is exceptionally high. Far too high, if you ask me.

I went to each and every edge of the roof, I guess hoping that a staircase or a mountain had suddenly sprung up in my side yard. No such luck.

Close to desperation, and nearly ready to succumb to the tall ladder plan, it struck me. The problem was that I had nothing to hold onto while easing my way down the roof. All I had to do was go to the far edge and ease down while tucking my arm up under the eave of the house. Slowly but surely, I scooted down the roof, a firm grasp around the roof’s edge. Sure enough – I did not lose traction, and never even came close to plunging to my death. When I got to the bottom edge of the roof, I easily maneuvered to the top of the ladder (which my wife was kind enough to move into place), and touched down to planet earth in one piece.

In all, I learned a lot of lessons during my time on the roof. I learned that you should always have an exit strategy. I learned that cooler heads prevail in a crisis. But most of all, I learned that I’m an idiot.