One of my all-time favorite billboards reads: “Honk if you love Jesus. Text and drive if you want to meet him.” As a law-abiding citizen who likes to follow the rules, texting and driving isn’t one of my vices. On the average day in Charlottesville, I rarely drive, and when I do it’s usually to the grocery store to buy one thing – Half Baked Ben and Jerry’s ice cream – which I simply can’t live without.
But what I do without fail everyday is walk. Whether it’s to class, the Fine Arts Cafe during a lunch break, to the Corner and home again, I am always walking in Charlottesville. And like most college kids, when my phone isn’t within arms reach, I feel like a part of me is missing.
But unlike most college kids, I never text and walk. While Itexting and driving is a serious issue which should be punishable in a court of law, I think more attention needs to be brought to the dangers of texting and walking. So consider this column a public service announcement intended to save you some embarrassment, a broken phone and a trip to the emergency room.
I’ll admit it. My first year of college, I was a VIP member of the texting and walking club. My iPhone was a recent addition to my life and, since I lived in Hereford, when I wasn’t texting and walking I was constantly refreshing the HoosBus application to see when the next Northline was coming. By the time February rolled around, not only had I mastered the art of texting and walking, I had also survived my first boys’ bid night – which coincided with nearly a foot of snow – without falling once. I was proud.
The Wednesday after that weekend was like any other. I grabbed some lunch at the Pav and walked to Clemons to do some homework before my 3 p.m. politics class. On my walk to the library, I struck up a texting conversation with my friend at Virginia Tech about the Tech basketball game scheduled for that evening. But as I walked down a flight of stairs, phone in hand, I managed to miss four steps and before I knew it, I was lying on the ground.
Once I realized what had happened, the first thing I did was check to make sure my phone was okay. Thankfully my phone came out unscathed. My ego, not so much, since at least 10 people saw my fall. I rose to my feet, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my left foot, and went to sit down in a chair. I felt like I was going to pass out. Ever since kindergarten, I’ve been one of those kids who hates missing class, so I reasoned that by the time my politics class got out, my foot would feel better. Wrong. I couldn’t even walk to class because my foot hurt so badly. I immediately called one of my friends and she told me she would meet me at Student Health.
When I got to Student Health, I got crutches and crackers – Saltines are proven panaceas, apparently – and made my way to the University hospital for X-rays. Within a few hours, my best friend took me home and basically became my personal assistant for the next two weeks as I was confined to crutches while my foot healed.
If you ever have to be on crutches in Charlottesville, I feel for you. This town, and these Grounds, are not crutches-friendly with their hills and uneven brick walkways. Ever since this incident which left me on crutches for a short but seemingly endless two weeks, I have been a staunch advocate against texting and walking.
Two weekends ago, I was reminded why texting and walking never ends well. After celebrating the 21st birthday of one of my best friends, my roommates and I were heading back to our house. As we approached our carport, we saw another one of our roommates sobbing and holding her elbow. Apparently she had fallen down on the Corner while texting and walking and her entire body weight landed on her elbow. She had to go to the emergency room.
The next morning I woke up to her asking me to open her water bottle, since one of her arms was out of commission in a sling. Her range of motion reminded me of that time when Uncle Jesse on “Full House” was in a motorcycle accident and broke both of his arms. Only my roommate didn’t have three nieces to help take care of her, she just had me. Unfortunately, her injury was much worse than mine and she underwent surgery two days later to repair her elbow with metal plates and screws.
So the moral of this story, kids, is don’t text and walk. You’re not as coordinated as you think.
Katie’s column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at k.urban@cavalierdaily.com.
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