At work tonight...scratch that, this morning...went in to clean up. My arm were filthy with dirt from end to end. My entire right fore-arm was dusty brown...except for a tiny football shaped scar on the wrist that is the root for this tangent.
See, I got that scar at my first job. I won't tell you where it was because I don't want to reveal that I once worked at Burgerville.
Well, the pride and joy of the nameless organization was their "never frozen" beef so we got almost daily shipments so the food was always fresh. (Note I did not say "good". Despite what we hear, fresh does not equal good. Don't believe me? Try some fresh head cheese. Oh, wait...cheese, by definition, cannot be fresh. Lets try again. Try some yogur....oh, never mind. Just take my word for it, fresh does not of itself equal good.
Anyway, I have never been technically proficient. It is possible this is because I never bother to use the proper tools. Case in point, I had a box knife with a dull blade and was trying to cut open a box of fresh, albeit not particularly tasty beef.
Now, rule #1 of box knife use is NEVER, under any circumstances, cut towards yourself. The second rule is similar; if you think you have a reason to cut towards yourself with a box knife, refer to rule #1.
Well, I was young and not brilliant so thought I was talented enough to use a dull knife by cutting away. Oh, not away from me...away from the direction I needed to be cutting.
And sure enough, the knife was catching on the box. So I prudently gave it a good jerk...towards me. And what do you know, my mighty biceps and the knife proved too mighty for the hapless cardboard box. Also too mighty for my skin...
So yeah, I sliced into my arm. Now, as luck would have it, the small town to remain nameless of St. Helens had our own hospital.
It is hard to argue that was a good thing. I take as my text the incident where Dad experienced some chest pain. They properly diagnosed it as a painful but not serious condition...and then gave him some medication that would have caused a heart attack had he ingested it. Idiots. Glad that dump shut down.
But before they could, they put stitches in my arm.
Not correctly, but they put them in.
And sure enough, their botched stitch-job left me with a scar on my wrist.
It should serve as a reminder of two things;
First, NEVER cut towards yourself with a knife. No matter what justification you have, just don't do it.
Second, use the correct tool for the job. Have I learned that lesson? Well, I am about to put a light fixture in the wall. Without a screwdriver or the correct screws. And within a half hour I will be stalking outside to give forth a primal scream of rage and frustration when it doesn't work.
So yeah, it is safe to say I have learned my lesson.