Obviously there was danger between me and my meatball marinara. Danger that had evidently taken its toll on other unfortunates. That's why the mall's management took the step of reminding me to keep in mind safety first before I gave thought to going up three stairs. I evaluated the situation. First I would have to know just what danger I was up against. I inspected the concrete steps from a safe distance. Seeing no structural defects I approached, and looked for cracks, or perhaps some sort of spilled slick liquid. I found none. I briefly considered the possibility that the warning cone was placed there by mistake, until I noticed similar devices on two other staircases within view. I remembered I have yet to prepare a will. I started to bargain with God to get me out of this staircase hell alive.
"Just go up the ramp Drugmonkey!!" I said to myself. "It's not worth it! What are you trying to prove?" That's when the guy in the suit came along. The guy in the suit went down the ramp. Like some sort of girl. No. That was not going to be me. I approached the set of tri-stairs and put one foot above the other. Three times. I was now at the top, overcome with the rush of adrenaline and euphoria that comes only from daring to do what most of us fear. I climbed the stairs for the same reason Sir Edmund Hillary climbed Mt. Everest, because it was there. You probably wouldn't understand.
I ordered double cheese on my sub to celebrate, and felt a renewed sense of manliness in my heart as I completed the day's prescriptions.
Tomorrow I may not use the handrail.
