The classifieds in last Thursday’s newspaper advertised just what I had been looking for: a dorm fridge.

Wow! It never happens that someone is selling the perfect item at the perfect price. The kind voice that answered my call reassured me that it hadn’t been sold, and was like new – used for one semester.

Finally, I was going to have cold storage for water and juices for the guest bedroom upstairs. This was just something I thought would be nice if we ever stumbled across a deal. Stumbled turned out to be the right word.

We couldn’t pick it up on Thursday. It was three towns away, and we had three appointments. “But Friday is good. May we pick it up then?”

The kind voice said she had a dentist appointment in Warren Friday morning … and would be happy to deliver it! That NEVER happens. Hoo-boy, this was meant to be.

The Kind Lady arrived the next morning with the fridge padded and strapped down in her SUV. When I opened the fridge, its sparkling interior was cold. “We plugged it in last night to make sure it was working,” she said. It was showroom perfect.

It wasn’t particularly heavy, just awkwardly bulky. I thought Dear Richard and I could easily carry it together, but as he hoisted it up, he reassured me, “No problem, this is easy.” Testosterone poisoning is a chronic condition in many men.

He slowed on the few steps to the front door, taking them one at a time because he couldn’t see straight ahead or look down. I held the storm door open wide, stepping out of the way. Just in time to hear the crash.

Lacking vision, Richard tripped on the small rise of the doorsill, fell towards the stairwell, and crashed into the wall. He lay on the floor, a contorted jumble of arms, legs, and blue Bermuda shorts wrapped around the fridge. As I ran in, he lifted his head and the blood gushed from his chin. The chunk out of the wall was a deep isosceles triangle. The chunk out of Dear Richard’s chin was a deep rectangle… with a flap. Sorta like a hanging chad. But dripping. It looked like impending stitches to me.

Our delivery lady was very concerned, but as I got the towels and ice, I reassured her that we were leaving right away for the walk-in clinic, the “Doc in the Box.” I wanted to avoid the emergency room, knowing it would be a long wait for an injury that wasn’t life threatening.

The Doc in the Box was busy, and after filling out the paperwork, we sat. I heard the efficient clerk mention to the staff in the back that there was one case they might want to check soon.

A minute later, the door opened. “Richard. Is Richard here?”

The nurse practitioner was terrific – good-humored, smart, and downright nice. She stitches people up a lot. But she looked at the flap, the depth, and a location that would constantly move, and decided we needed to go to the hospital E.R. Aarrgghh.

We checked into the emergency room about 11:00AM. As Richard finished with the triage nurse, we tossed his third soggy towel from home, replacing it with a fistful of gauze pads.

We waited. We both finished the morning newspaper. In addition to reading our local news, I did the Celebrity Cipher, the crossword, the Jumble, Hocus Pocus, Sudoku, and read the bridge column. And then all the international news. Tick, tick, tick. New patients streamed in, and ambulances came and went, filling the treatment rooms inside. People left the waiting room for blood tests and X-rays … then came back again.

Around noon they called him for a CAT-scan. I hadn’t really thought about the jarring Richard had experienced, but was relieved they checked his neck and head. He returned – no worries.

We had left home around 9:45AM, each having had one cup of coffee. About 1:00PM I said, “I’m getting hungry. You?”

“I’m starved,” he replied. I went to Timmy Ho’s drive-thru and fetched breakfast sandwiches and coffee.

At 3:00PM, they called him in. The first thing the nurse practitioner did, after ordering his tetanus shot, was to give him a chin-full of novocaine. “She cut off my flap, and sewed me up with five stitches,” Richard reported.

We were very happy to finally be home at 4:00PM.

We turned off the Keurig, fed the cat, and I finally brushed my teeth. We had waited the day away, but we’re retired. As those hours went by, we also witnessed an overburdened emergency room function well while under-nursed, under-roomed and over-stressed. They are professionals.

All in all, Richard was lucky his accident wasn’t worse than a newly cleft chin.

The dented dorm fridge is the one with the lasting scar.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com