A couple years ago, I was up on the front porch roof. I know you’re not supposed to stand on a tin roof, but the thing is in need of replacement anyway and, short of using anti-gravity equipment, I can’t think of another way to get to the siding and windows above the porch.

I don’t remember why I was up there. Probably scraping and repainting the windows. The sun beats on that part of the house without mercy and even the  best paint throws in the towel and starts getting flaky after a few years.

It was a breezy summer day. Maybe “breezy” is an understatement. While I was busy doing whatever I was doing I heard what can only be described as an “aluminum scraping on tin” sound. The breeze had turned into a wind ;and the noise I heard was my lightweight aluminum ladder sliding across the edge of the tin roof. The scraping sound was followed by a crashing sound, as the thing hit the cement walkway below.

This is what’s known in technical manuals as being “stuck on the roof.” It’s similar to being “up the creek without a paddle” but possibly worse (unless the creek leads to a waterfall and you can’t swim). Aside from breaking a window to get into the house, my only option for descent was jumping.  A more limber person, perhaps one named Gumby, might have been able to survive that method of returning to ground level. Not me. I have absolutely no flexibility. I pull neck muscles while shaving.

I’m pretty sure there were people inside the house. However, my knocks on the window went unanswered. I didn’t want to scream “help” because … well because that would have been incredibly embarrassing. The neighbors, after all, were sitting on their front porch.

What I soon found out is that the crashing sound of my wayward ladder didn’t go unnoticed by the aforementioned neighbors. I looked over at them and saw that they were looking back. I’d rather not describe their facial expressions but mine was similar to the one I displayed at a Kansas concert in the late 1970s when I accidentally moon-walked into the ladies room. Have you ever been experienced? Well I have.

It no longer mattered that the neighbors were smirking. When one of them came over to rescue me, I thanked her profusely. Smirk all you want, my savior.

Today I climbed onto an even higher tin roof. I tied the ladder down as a means of preventing it from trying to escape, but when I was ready to get down I got a case of the heebie-jeebies. Why is it always the case that ladders placed at what seem to be perfectly safe angles at ground level appear to be virtually vertical when you’re ready to get down.

Everyday a little sadder, a little madder. Someone get me a ladder.

As if that trick of geometry isn’t bad enough, there’s just something about an aluminum ladder resting on a tin roof that doesn’t inspire confidence. Maybe that something is called “lack of friction.” I found myself 20 feet off the ground and frozen.

I will not claim foresight or preparation played a part in me having my cellphone. I just happened to have it. And, for a change, its battery wasn’t dead.

“Come outside and hold this ladder so I can get off this roof,” I texted my son. “Ha ha ha” began his reply. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

I’m down. The ladder is still up. It can’t go anywhere, even if a wind kicks up, because it’s tied down.  And this blog is named “Permaladder” for a reason, dammit.