During high school and college, I painted houses during the summer. By no means was I an entrepreneur, I just desperately needed money for car insurance, tuition and books.

It was a lucrative little business that taught me the value of a hard-earned dollar. I got to be treasurer and paint crew supervisor, although on most projects I was the only painter.

Over the years, I always painted my own home and proudly pocketed the savings. It was a great deal until growing job duties started dominating my weekends.

During one "banquet season," spring fever gripped the Yohem home. Our 1970s house in the Tucson Mountains needed a basement remodel. Plus, the two-story structure had redwood siding that needed painting.

Frankly, I was burned out on banquets. For the fourth straight Saturday, I had a business-related function. I thought of hiring a contractor until the $2,500 bids came in. Instead, I decided to attack the roof trim and fascia boards myself.

Up before dawn Saturday, I finished painting the south, west and north fascia by noon. My wife and daughter left to run errands, due back at 2 p.m. We had to leave at 4 p.m.

The east section was most difficult. It had two large windows under a high, 20-foot peaked roof. Painting from right to left, I could reach two feet of trim on each side of the ladder before I had to climb down and move left. When fully extended, I could barely brush the top without a bristle to spare.

At 1:30 p.m., the peak was done. The rest of the section was easy; all the other trim was eight feet above ground.

Soon, I was above our daughter’s room. On the radio, the 2 p.m. news played. It was obvious the last few feet of wood were out of reach. I was tired, out of time, and didn’t want to move the ladder any more.

With great deliberation, I weighed the risks and rewards. Fall down, break a bone. Finish now, get a hot shower. In my mind, I convinced myself I was strong and agile. If I lost my balance, just grab the roof and hold on, then safely drop to the ground.

So I reached left and painted two feet. Then I brushed the next foot of fascia. Only 12 inches to go but I couldn’t reach. Confidently, I slid my right foot against the left side of the ladder and leaned way, way out.

I started to fall!

Instinctively, my reflexes took over. Instead of grabbing the roof as planned, my brain sensed danger and reacted. In a split second my legs flexed, catapulting me off the ladder. Backwards.

I crashed to earth in a sitting position, flat on my butt. The paint bucket somersaulted from the sky onto my knees. Dizzied by the fall, I froze, splattered in paint from toes to nose.

Oddly, the ladder legs were still in place on the ground. Slowly, I raised my eyes. The top of the ladder was stuck in my daughter’s bedroom window, the glass shattered.

Suddenly, the side of my head was burning. I touched it and came away with a bloody palm. Along my back were painful pricks. Being airborne, I had landed in a giant ocotillo in our yard. My scalp was cut and spines had ripped my back.

"Hey, Mister. Are you OK?"

Two little neighbor girls in uniforms were standing on the front steps.

"We saw you fly off the ladder. Pretty cool! You wanna buy some Girl Scout cookies?"

Politely, I asked them to come back Sunday.

Painfully, I crawled out of the ocotillo. No bones were broken. I dropped my clothes on the porch and went inside to get ready for the banquet. With a box of band-aids, some peroxide and Tylenol, I could get through the night.

Soon, my girls were home. As they unloaded groceries, they saw the broken glass, the flattened ocotillo, and the bloody clothes. I was in the shower when my wife gently pulled aside the curtain.

"How bad is it? Are we going to the banquet or the hospital?"

This is a true story, drawn from Yohem’s 25-year communications career with the Southern Arizona Home Builders Association, Tucson Electric Power, and Southwest Gas. His column looking at the lighter side of "challenges" in the business world appears the first and third week of each month in Inside Tucson Business.