Storytime! Just a teeny one, though.
I’m at home, it’s the evening, and it is time for a treat.
Our tasty treat of choice? Ice cream. In Cassie’s case, a vanilla float. In mine, a little plain vanilla in a bowl.
Cassie has already scooped her ice cream up out of the family sized gallon tub, and waggles the scooper at me in an inquisitive way.
“Why, certainly, I’d be happy to have some ice cream!”
I take the scooper gently from her hand, snag a bowl from the cupboard, and proceed to dig into the frozen confection.
As I dig into the ice cream distractedly, I continue talking with Cassie about our upcoming raid schedule, and my recent attempts to set a consistent reliable schedule of raids so people can plan on things in advance. We’re also searching for a raid leader within the guild to supplement Cassie, Fal and I.
So I’m chatting, distracted, not paying attention to what my hands are doing, and so allow my superhuman strength free reign.
I dig the scoop into the ice cream, meet resistance, and apply so much force I snap the metal scoop in half, and rip the back of my knuckles open on the metal remains wedged firmly in the ice cream.
Whoops! That got my attention!
So I look at the ice cream tub. Yep, that’s one half of a scoop. Sure ’nuff.
I look at the handle in my hand. Yep, that’s the other half of the scoop. Congratulations Sherlock, you have discovered the murder weapon!
I gaze at the back of my hand. Yep, that there is raw skin and torn flesh, and there will be quite a bit of blood running in just a sec. Best get some cold water to slow the circulation and then get some direct pressure from a soft cloth.
I move to the sink. As I do so, Cassie begins laughing at me.
I broke the scoop. What kind of idiot breaks the scoop? And I hurt myself scooping ice cream into a bowl? Are you kidding me?
So, she’s laughing. It’s not like I’m crying or screaming or whatever people do when they freak out at the idea that their precious skin got mussed. I tore up my knuckles, better treat ‘em quick. Whatever.
And it’s not being macho, pain hurts me the same as anyone else, it’s just that what’s done is done, and once it’s over it’s not like yelling and screaming actually does any good… unless you’re slammed with adrenaline and have tons of nervous energy to burn off. I’m just looking at my hand and thinking, “Ah, crap. Not again.”
It was ice cream. I hurt myself getting ice cream? Who in the hell hurts themselves getting ice cream? Oh for the love of…
She’s amused at my idiocy, and then moves on about her business. I wash my hands, rinse off my knuckles, grab a paper towel, wet it, and go downstairs. As the blood begins to seep out, I mop it up. No worries. In my experience, air drying and mopping up the welling blood on a superficial wound like this helps encourage clotting.
So, I go downstairs, load up the game and start playing. As my fingers get too red I mop it up.
Cassie comes downstairs to say something, sees all the blood, and NOW she’s sorry for me.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were actually hurt for a change, you big crybaby.”
So, go to work the next day, no problem. And as luck would have it, there are far more equipment breakdowns than usual, two of my three maintenance team members are off this week, and it’s just me and my one remaining employee to handle everything. I assign him priority one, I take number two, and start cranking with the tools on the linkages of a rotary die swap out.
I have a lot of balls I juggle in the course of a day, and just because I’m fixing stuff on the floor doesn’t mean everybody else takes a break. I gotta keep on top of my contractors, meetings, follow ups on parts orders and status updates for the planning staff.
So I’m hustling back and forth through the plant quite a bit.
As I’m walking through the offices in the afternoon, our HR representative stops me and asks me if I know who is bleeding in the office.
Yes, she tells me someone is bleeding, there are spatters of blood drying on the formica floor outside my office.
I lift my right hand, look at it, and sure enough I’m bleeding profusely. I hadn’t noticed it get all ripped open again.
So I look at her and tell her I found the culprit! It was a hard search, but no criminal can get away once bloodhound bear is on the trail!
I thank her kindly for letting me know, I go clean my hand up, get the bleeding stopped, and then grab a gallon of bleach from the shop and start cleaning up the floor.
As I’m cleaning the blood stains with bleach, our HR rep comes up to me and tells me I need to remember to fill out an accident report.
Oh, shit. This is gonna be a good one.
Umm… I tell her I don’t need to fill one out, because this didn’t happen in the plant. It happened at home.
She seems… a little doubtful. Not that she’s saying she thinks I’m a liar, but… “yeah, right”.
“No really, I did this at home” I tell her.
“How did you do that?” she asks.
And of course, I have to tell her the whole story. Yes, I did it by getting ice cream. No, no I didn’t actually bleed IN the ice cream, but thank you for asking.
So, one stupid mistake, and now I’m embarassed twice. It’s the gift that keeps on giving!
I got to work this morning, looked at the blog page and figured… hey, why not go for the hat trick?
You all take care, see you later with the winning results! Cassie already read them all and tabulated her opinions, now it’s on me to finish!
Oh, and watch out for those ice cream tubs, those damn things are dangerous!