Every era has its own set of hazards, by Rob Krider

Remember the '80s? Remember how it was, like, awesome? Remember when our pants were acid washed and our shirts glowed in the dark? Or how our feet stunk because no one wore socks? Even though those days are gone, U2 is still on the radio, and my feet still stink.

All these '80s neon memories recently came back to me when some friends invited my wife and me to an '80s themed party. She and I hit the thrift stores and outfitted ourselves in full-on '80 grab. The first thing I did to get back into the '80s was peg my jeans. It came so naturally to me, if felt like I had never stopped doing it. While Culture Club was blaring on my stereo, I took a look in the mirror. With my hair feathered, my Swatch watch on, and my pants pegged, I thought, "How did this look ever go out of style?"

My wife, whom I love, seemed all too eager to crimp her hair again. After what seemed like hours of applying makeup and hairspray, she emerged from the bathroom wearing a denim mini skirt and earrings bigger than her head. She looked like she just came form a Von Jove concert.

We left the kids with a babysitter who was actually born in the '80s. We cranked up Duran Duran and headed to the party, where everybody was dressed to impress. There were outfits highlighting all sorts of '80s trends: Crocket, Michael Jackson, Madonna, you name it. After everyone drank a few wine coolers the party's hostess surprised all the guests with a charter bus.

Everyone got on the bus, not knowing where it was going. My guess was the church of scientology. I was wrong, the bus stopped at the local roller rink.

There are a lot of things I haven't done since the '80s. I haven't purchased a New Kids On The Block album, I haven't worn parachute pants ( or attempted to moon-walk while wearing parachute pants ), and I definitely haven't worn roller skates. Some people say it's like riding a bike. What does peddling a bike have to do with roller skating? Nothing.

While I was lacing up my skates, I looked over at a friend of mine and said, "Someone is going to get injured." We'd all been drinking, we weren't teenagers anymore, and we were all wearing wheels on our feet. It was a recipe for a trip to the ER.

I slowly headed out onto the floor with my hands grasping the railing on the wall as if I was hanging onto the side of the earth. After a few slow laps around the rink, it al started to come back to me. My confidence grew, and before I knew it, I was dancing around the rink, rocking out to "Thriller" like it was 1984.

I harassed the DJ into playing a game I loved as a kid called "red light, green light." Finally he conceded and started the game. I was ecstatic. Wee all lined up on one side of the rink. Everyone was ready to race down to the end of the rink. The DJ said, "On you marks. Get set. Go." I took off as fast as I could. Of course, I was all alone because everyone else was waiting for the magic words: "green light."

Once I realized my mistake, I tried to stop myself. Somewhere in the midst of going as fast as I could and trying to come to a complete stop while wearing wheels on my feet, I lost my balance. It was fast, and it was violent. I went down so quick I didn't even have a second to brace myself for the fall. Wham! I struck my head, back, and neck all at the same time. The thud was felt all the way across the rink.

I blacked out for a second. I couldn't breathe because I had the wind knocked out or me. I hadn't had the wind knocked out of me since, well, since the 1980s. I thought for a second I was going to see the inside of an ambulance, I couldn't get any air into my lungs. I tried to move my fingers and toes. For a moment I thought I might be paralyzed. It was frightening.

So there I lay on the floor of the roller rink, unable to breath, pants pegged, wondering if I was going to spend the rest of my life in a chiropractor's office. (You know they say a chiropractor isn't a real doctor?) I felt like an idiot. If was my idea to play "red light, green light," and I was the one who told my friend that someone was going to get hurt. It was me who got hurt. People were all around me asking it I was okay. I couldn't answer them because I couldn't breathe. The disco ball dept spinning, the Devo was singing, "step on a crack, brake your mama's back."

Eventually, all of my functions came around. I crawled off the rink and tore the skates off of my feet. My back hurt, my neck hurt, my head hurt, buy my ego was the most damaged. All of our friends saw my bit the big one. My wife wasn't too impressed with my skating skills. I may have survived the '80s, but I barely survived the '80s party. At least I wasn't wearing spandex.

Rob secretly owns ALF season one on DVD. Copyright 2005.