Do you ever hear of freak accidents and think “Oh that could never happen to me”?
I have a friend who has them all the time. One time, when shoveling the snow from her roof, she fell off into a snow bank and got stabbed in the butt by an icicle. She had to get several stitches. Another time, she was watching some hot guy cross the street, didn’t notice she was entering a construction zone, and fell into an open manhole- breaking her leg. She popped her hip once when a bike fell on her head. Her primary school class pushed her out a second story window. And, a personal favorite; she was electrocuted by her washing machine.
Hmm, now that I’ve shared bits of my friend’s stories, mine doesn’t seem all that spectacular. That was poor planning on my part.
It was a few years ago, when I worked on the fifth floor of our office building. I was just pushing the button of my floor in an elevator when I noticed a man walking across the lobby towards me. I shot out my hand to stay the doors so that he could enter but it didn’t go as planned. Apparently, I had stuck my hand in the exact center of the entryway and the doors shut before the bumper thingies (I’ll have to look up the technical word for it sometime) even touched my hand.
I howled in pain and surprise as the doors shut and then again after my fingers slammed into the top of the outer doorway. I tried to curl them as they grazed against the walls and doors of floors 2 and 3 while I yanked to get my hand free. It hurt terribly but the situation was so ridiculous that I just found myself laughing and crying the whole time.
Finally, I f reed my hand on the fourth floor and the elevator froze, probably trying to assess what had just happened. I stared down at my hand. The fingertips were red from scraping across all the inner workings of the elevator and the rest of the hand was red and swelling. The elevator started moving again. By the time I had reached my office my knuckles weren’t discernable. At the end of the day, I had a 3 inch wide bruise that circled my whole hand. It was one of the most fabulous wound stories I had ever received and the only witness was that poor guy I left in the lobby who just heard a loud howl as he saw four fingertips ride up the elevator doors.
I showed off the bruise for weeks.
I have a friend who has them all the time. One time, when shoveling the snow from her roof, she fell off into a snow bank and got stabbed in the butt by an icicle. She had to get several stitches. Another time, she was watching some hot guy cross the street, didn’t notice she was entering a construction zone, and fell into an open manhole- breaking her leg. She popped her hip once when a bike fell on her head. Her primary school class pushed her out a second story window. And, a personal favorite; she was electrocuted by her washing machine.
Hmm, now that I’ve shared bits of my friend’s stories, mine doesn’t seem all that spectacular. That was poor planning on my part.
It was a few years ago, when I worked on the fifth floor of our office building. I was just pushing the button of my floor in an elevator when I noticed a man walking across the lobby towards me. I shot out my hand to stay the doors so that he could enter but it didn’t go as planned. Apparently, I had stuck my hand in the exact center of the entryway and the doors shut before the bumper thingies (I’ll have to look up the technical word for it sometime) even touched my hand.
I howled in pain and surprise as the doors shut and then again after my fingers slammed into the top of the outer doorway. I tried to curl them as they grazed against the walls and doors of floors 2 and 3 while I yanked to get my hand free. It hurt terribly but the situation was so ridiculous that I just found myself laughing and crying the whole time.
Finally, I f reed my hand on the fourth floor and the elevator froze, probably trying to assess what had just happened. I stared down at my hand. The fingertips were red from scraping across all the inner workings of the elevator and the rest of the hand was red and swelling. The elevator started moving again. By the time I had reached my office my knuckles weren’t discernable. At the end of the day, I had a 3 inch wide bruise that circled my whole hand. It was one of the most fabulous wound stories I had ever received and the only witness was that poor guy I left in the lobby who just heard a loud howl as he saw four fingertips ride up the elevator doors.
I showed off the bruise for weeks.
3 comments:
I cannot believe that story...that's one of those things you really, REALLY don't think could ever happen. I'm not going to try to be polite & stop another elevator again...ever!
Casey, I am love reading your random thoughts again. I was in your singles ward years back and love your e-mails and love reading your blogs now. You probably don't even remember me, but I always thought you were so cool and loved your relief society lessons. Thanks for making me laugh again! :)
Oh, I just love your narratives, that one had me laughing out loud! Olivia is staring at me, saying "funny?"
I will never stick my hand out for a stranger again, no matter how rude I may seem!
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