Yum, Yum, Fillet o' Thumb
When I was 15 years old, my grandfather bought me a genuine Victorinox
Swiss Army Knife identical to the one you see below. It was a really
nice model with two blades, a wicked saw, can opener, bottle opener, two
screwdrivers, corkscrew, leather punch (that I used to
pick locks), toothpick and tweezers. This was right around the time that the TV
show MacGuyver was popular and I took advantage of any situation that allowed me
to whip out my knife. So naturally I took it to work with me every day at the
supermarket where I worked as a bag-boy.
I never had a problem with my knife until that one fateful day on the front-end
of the store when I decided to use the largest blade on my knife (just to scare
the old people into thinking that I was some sort of psycho) to open boxes
with plastic bags. I would hold the box, slice four times to cut the top off,
place the box under the register and then proceed on. On about the fifth box,
my mind began to wander about and I failed to notice that I had
placed my hand directly in the trajectory of the knife. Not only did I
slice the box, I put a really deep gash in the webbing between my left index finger
and thumb. Funny thing was, I didn't even feel it.
I went about my business slicing and a replentishing the bag supply when
I began to notice rather large spots of blood on the floor, on the cart,
on the boxes I was cutting--everywhere. Still not realizing what had happened, I searched
for the source of the crimson spotting. Eventually, I noticed my thumb bleeding
away. "COOL!" I exclaimed as I pulled the flap of skin back and peered into the
fleshy crevice. "The girls up front are going to love this!
I went up to the front desk, cutting and bumping people out of the way and I placed my left
hand on the service counter where it immediately began to create a free-flowing
crimson pool. Without motioning to or drawing attention to my hand I said "Uhh, Cathy
(that's not her real name), what do you think I should do about this?"
"Do about what, Dan?"
I motioned to my hand, now totally encompassesed by a pool of blood and needless
to say, she freaked. I just started laughing.
Again without motioning to my hand, "This."
Irriatated, she screamed "What???!!!! I'm very busy, Dan, and I don't have time for games!!!"
"Sorry. I just wanted some advice on what I should do about this here."
Scaring people is cool--but scars are cooler!
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