The Cheese Tried to Murder Me

I work seventeen hours a week. Seven and a half of those hours are spent in one shift cutting fruits and vegetables. If I'm lucky the chef in charge, Andy, will let me take an extra five minutes during one of my two fifteen minute breaks. After work I go to class with my hands a mixture of pink from the cold and orange from the carrots. It's a delight, really it is.

It was after a day like this in which my brain decided it would be fun to impale myself. of course I couldn't cut myself at work where I would receive worker's comp. No. I went home and stabbed myself while literally cutting the cheese.

For the split second the knife entered my hand I had an out of body experience. My brain stared at the knife in my hand and said, "Oh wow. I've never cut myself with a knife before." A split second later I had dropped the knife, jumped up clutching my hand, and ran across the hall to the bathroom followed by a string of obscenities and a call for Brenda to grab a bandaid. After all it was a small cut. No need to worry, just slap a handy dandy bandaid on it.

Wrong.

I stuck my hand under the cold water and the water turned pink in the sink. The bleeding stopped and I pressed gauze to it using, for the first time, my first aid training. The bleeding stopped and I put the bandaid on the little puncture wound.

By then I had made up my mind. I was not going to the ceremony at the sorority house. No, I was going to go eat dinner. I stood waiting for Brenda and Cindy (my arm draped over my head so the cut was over my heart to slow the bleeding) when I noticed red. I looked up to find blood cascading down. So I dashed back to the bathroom now panicking that my hand would not stop bleeding.

Brenda stood in the bathroom trying to help me but unable to do anything but laugh hysterically. Cindy went in search of the RA as student health closed at 4:30 and no one knew what to do after hours.

We called the front desk and they said they had first aid. I assumed this also meant that they had someone who would know how to help. Wishful thinking. When we arrived at De Anza my two least favorite desk attendants sat staring at me. When I told them of my injuty the blonde one stood up and went to a standard metal first aid kit and handed me a roll of gauze and some paper tape.

Me: "I'm allergic to tape."
DA: "...to tape..."
Me: "Yeah."
DA: "..."
Me: "Besides I'm first aid and CPR certified so I know that---"
DA: "Wait, are you having trouble breathing?"
Me: "No..."
DA: "But you mentioned CPR."
Me: "....."

I stormed out of De Anza dramatically.

Eventually though we called dispatch and Cindy told the poor woman that her roommate "had cut herself". They sent a police officer over to ensure that I hadn't been in a knife fight with my block of cheese, since it was a hand injury and soon the ambulance arrived. The paramedic literally couldn't have cared less about my and was more worried I would die from tetanus. Sure I understand if I'd been cutting my cheese with a knife made of rusty barbed wire, but I wasn't.

The ER visit took three hours and involved a lot of waiting, an x-ray, an old nurse who never spoke above a whisper, a tetanus shot, and a close encounter with stitches. Thank you Alyssa, you are the best big ever.

The next day I went into work to hand in my doctor's note which excused me from work for the week. Of course Hyacinth wasn't there it was Jamie, the nine month pregnant dargon lady.

Me: "Hi. Yesterday I cut myself---"
Jamie: "Oh God! Not here I hope!"
Me: "....No...at home."
Jamie: "Good!"
Me: "Yeah... well here's my note."
Jamie: "You'll have to find your own subs. Of course you are excused but it's easier for me if you find your own."
Me: "Riiight..."

And did I find my own subs? No.