Mario Bautista
“Hit the bricks” is one of those odd expressions that doesn’t exactly mean what it says. It apparently derives from olden times when some streets were paved with bricks.
The saying was a slang way of telling someone they were fired and needed to head out onto the streets to find new employment. Its negative connotation eventually came to extend to any scenario when someone was being asked to exit against their wishes.
For example, “You haven’t paid your gym membership for months, so clean out your locker and hit the bricks.”
“Hit the bricks” recently took on a whole new meaning for me due to an unfortunate incident around our farm.
I was in a hurry to feed our barn cats one evening. A friend was picking me up so we could attend an event together at the local historical society. As usual, I was running late. I had to finish feeding the cats, sheep and goats, plus grab a quick shower and change into a presentable outfit for the public gathering.
Since my timing was a bit earlier than usual, feeding the cats meant finding the cats, as each gets its own little dish of food and not all of them eat together in one place. I headed toward the barn calling, “Here puss, puss,” which usually brings all five felines running.
The two tame cats showed up right away, two of the semi-feral cats didn’t, and the third semi-feral one was on lockdown in the upstairs of the barn, since he had not been playing well with others lately. I fed the upstairs cat first, then headed downstairs to feed Zane and Tuxie, our two tame feline friends.
This process involved exiting onto the barn’s exterior forebay and then entering the nearby door into the former horse stable. That’s when I heard — and also caught sight of — trouble brewing. Behind me was tame cat Tuxie and in front of me was Moses, the semi-feral orange tiger cat, blocking the door to the horse stable, where the tame cats get fed. He was yowling loudly and seemed to be in a stare-down with poor Tuxie.
I didn’t have time for any cat fight interventions, so I gave a glance in Tuxie’s direction over my shoulder as I kept marching ahead toward Moses, telling him to “Hit the bricks, buddy!”
Have I ever mentioned our barn has a beautiful brick-floored forebay? It is composed of red bricks laid on their narrow sides, tightly beside each other with no mortar between them; a limestone curb keeps them from shifting.
This brick paving is well-worn, probably dating to the original 1901 barn on this site. After it burned in 1943, the current barn was built on the same foundation.
I was doing my best to act intimidating as I marched toward Moses while glancing back at Tuxie. I should’ve been looking down at my feet instead.
Some accidents seem to happen in slow motion. Others catch you totally unaware. Suddenly, I found myself falling face forward toward the bricks in the latter style of accident. I had no idea what had caused me to be headed downward at a rapid rate. The landing came hard as I literally hit the bricks.
The cat food dishes I’d been carrying went flying and the cats fled in opposite directions. I had no time to think about my landing, as I caught myself with both knees, the heels of both hands and fortunately made a gentler touchdown with the side my head. My glasses went flying, but I kept my wits about me,
Many thoughts raced through my mind in the nanosecond before I quickly jumped back onto my feet, feeling self-conscious, even if there wasn’t anyone around to see me fall.
What if my glasses were broken? What if my head’s slight impact with the bricks had caused a brush burn — or worse yet, a black eye (or concussion!).
What if I couldn’t go to the event that evening, for which I had already RSVP’d, not to mention that my friend who was joining me lived some distance away and was already en route to my farm. I didn’t have my cellphone with me to call Dennis, who was still confined to the house from his foot surgery anyway.
I tried determining what had caused my sudden fall. The culprit turned out to be a long green hose attached to the nearby hydrant. What fool had left that tripping hazard lying stretched out in such a stupid place?!
Uh oh — that fool was most likely me. Next, I checked myself out. Nothing seemed broken or bleeding, though my hands and knees felt worse for the wear.
I quickly fed the remaining cats, limped back to the house, took a hot shower and two extra strength acetaminophen, then changed into my going-away clothes.
I had to take the stair steps one at a time because my knees hurt. I decided against mentioning this little mishap to Dennis, but did explain it to Betsy when she came to pick me up and we headed into town.
I’d like to say we had a lovely time, but here’s the punchline — when we got to the venue, it was locked and a double check of my invitation revealed we were there one night too soon.
