I use to work at a Mom and Pop grocery store, in the deli. As far as minimum wage jobs go, it was awesome. I would make potato salad, bread and fry up chicken pieces and make dazzling fruit and vegetable trays. I learned about all manner of deli meats and cheeses. It was an excellent job to have, I excelled there. An amazing deli girl was I.
I mentioned this to Mr. Hall yesterday, while at a super market. He said, "You mean the deli where you almost sliced your hand off?" And yes indeed, it was the same deli of which he spoke.
At the deli, I worked the pm shift, which means I did the closing. Part of my closing duties involved cleaning the slicer. I was about 21 years old. That night, the store was quiet and the store was almost empty. Just like every night, I was cleaning the slicer while it was running. This way, when I ran the hot soapy rag over the blade, the bits of meats and cheese would melt and whirl right off. Then, out of nowhere I hear BING! I jumped back about five feet.
Blink.. blink... blink...
I stopped the machine and looked down at my right hand. There was a nickle sized hole where the knuckle should have been on my index finger. There were shredded bits of knuckle flesh on my middle finger. I saw the whites of my tendons.
Then, like a flash flood, both knuckles filled with bright red blood. I was stunned. I went into the kitchen and wrapped my hand in paper toweling. After finding the manager in aisle three I said, "I have to go to the hospitalI'vecut my handon the slicer." He looked a bit puzzled. He was a skinny, nerdy guy who looked like Marty McFly senior. He was a good guy though, I liked him.
He said, "Ok Holly, um, you can drive over to St. Mary's, it's just two blocks away."
Then I said, "NO. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. I CUT MY FINGER AND I NEED TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL." I wasn't yelling but I felt the need to raise the volume so he could hear me.
A plumb, blonde cashier was dispatched to drive me. On the way there she talked about her fertility treatment. She had been trying to conceive and had to go on Clomid. This helps a woman release multiple eggs. The seats were comfy. It was rainy and inky dark outside.
The ER nurse was nice. She cut off the flap of skin hanging from my knuckle and gently washed all the blood from my hand and arm. It really stung, but I was a trooper. My Mom came and proceeded to bitch me out. She had to get the truck from the store and drive it to the ER. It had no gas. She was freaking and pissed off because she had to stop at the gas station. Meaner than a rattle snake.
The next day I went to a special "hand surgery" place. It was in a strip mall. The surgeon had these huge, life size Beatle posters on the walls. I remember laying on the table while he took syringes and injected stuff into my hand. The pain was unbelievable. It hurt like a son of a bitch. I did some very deep breathing. Breathe, breathe, breathe...
The doctor took notice and became very chatty. He asked, "Have you had a child before? They way you are breathing, it's . . . " I said, "No. I don't have any kids." He went on injecting. Unbelievable pain. Breathe, breathe, breathe... Then he said, "You're doing Lamaze breathing, seriously, have you ever had a child? You are literally doing the Lamaze breathing." He was astonished by this. And staring at me, watching me breathe.
Again, he was literally inserting needles into the base of my knuckles.
Let's all take a minute here. Let's all look at our hands and knuckles. Go ahead, take a look. NOW. Touch your knuckles, give 'em a pinch. Feel around a bit. This is where he was injecting stuff.
Hurt like a son of a bitch. MEANER THAN A RATTLESNAKE!!
Breathe, breathe, breathe . . . . . He spoke up again, "Wow young lady! You're REALLY doing Lamaze breathing. Are you sure you haven't? . . . Huh . . . . " I shook my head no. And tried my best not to thrash around because the pain from the injections was ripping me in half. Breathe...breathe...breathe....
They took a square of skin from my hip. They were careful not to take skin from my tattoo. They sewed that skin onto my knuckle. By then my hand was all numb.
For the next month or so I practiced bending my fingers. This hurt a lot. As my fingers were healing, scar tissue would adhere to the tendons. Bending the fingers literally breaks scar tissue off the tendon. That was the hurt part. But, it only took a month. I was a trooper.
Overall, it turned out pretty good. The skin graft took really well and blended right in. You can barely tell anything happened. And the blonde cashier got knocked up soon after. I left the deli job when her baby was a few months old. Then I left that city and started nursing school.
NOW about the bottle of booze....
After we closed on our house our real estate agent gave us a fancy schmancy bottle of tequila. Seems fair, she gets 6%, we get a bottle of fancy Tequila.
Only what the heck I am suppose to do with it? I mean, we have small kids, we don't get hammered. We are not people who "party".
And even if one of us imbibes the other one doesn't because the kids need a sober parent to drive to the hospital in the middle of the night.
In case they are really really dumb and clean a deli slicer while its running.
So we have this expensive bottle of tequila just sitting there.
What do I do with this bottle of Tequila?
Any suggestions, just let me know! ;)
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