No wonder nobody ever wants to take the trash out. Come to think of it, when I was a teen I took the bag out to the curb for my mom. I felt it brush against my knee and then something pouring onto my calf. I looked down expecting some yucky mess and my leg was covered with blood. Turns out a tin can lid had sliced that big muscle just outside the knee wide open. Got a great scar outta that one.
That’s just an awesome line. I’ll have to remember it.
My wife seems to be the one with the best accidents. As a kid she sprained an ankle when her family got a trampoline; she stepped in a hole in the back yard while walking to it. Just a few weeks ago she had a fun time with the grill. It made one of those huge fireballs right after she lit it and got a bit singed. It was a good thing she hadn’t put more stuff in her hair or she would have pulled an MJ Pepsi commercial.
I think the worst injury I’ve had recently was at the hands of my son. I got smacked in the face hard enough that my head went back into the wall and I was stunned for a few seconds and saw stars.
Did I mention that he doesn’t turn 2 for another 6 months? I’ve hoping for a future NFL All Star, but he might have a career in boxing.
I just wanted to add this comic blast from the past. Remember folks, gravity isn’t just a good idea, it’s a law.
When I was eleven or twelve, I was walking by myself through a meadow (tall grass) at summer camp when SURPRISE I stepped on a rake.
I wasn’t badly injured, but there’s nothing dignified about having a cartoon come to life and hurt your nose.
I was always an analytical child, interested in exactly how the world works.
That is why, as a young child I was interested in whether the old “stand-on-a-rake-head” trick was actually possible.
My five year old mind concluded, yes, it will flip up and hit you in the face and moreover your eyes really do go black a-la Wylie Coyotee.
snap! Kyla, but at least you didn’t do it on purpose!
It works with a hoe as well. Bonus points for walking backwards onto it, having it whack you upside the head and whirling around in an attempt to see who it was that just hit you.
I’d just moved in to my friend’s house and was looking for my cookbook that I’d packed with my other books. My roommate, being somewhat… anal?.. had already taken all my boxes of books and thrown them up into the attic. The attic was accessible only from a little opening in her garage.
Now, roommate is over 5’10". I am 5’3" and change on a good day. I have to pull out a ladder to try to even reach the little opening to climb up into the attic.
Get to the top of the ladder and can only barely reach up into the opening. Perch myself precariously on the top of the ladder, hoist myself up into the attic.
Start to look for my boxes amongst all the stuff up there. Now, keep in mind a few things. There were boxes sitting everywhere, some on the rafters, some on the “floor” (for lack of a better word). I was utterly unfamiliar with how attics were built in a modern house (ala the 80’s). The only attics I’d ever been in were in houses built in the early 20th century. Attics that people were expected to walk around in.
So. I find the box where I’d put my cookbook. I’m standing on the floor, because why wouldn’t you? There’s boxes sitting on the floor, plus it’s the floor.
I’m sorting through this box trying to find my cookbook, and I feel and hear the creaking cracking of drywall snapping. Look down, and the floor is starting to split from a few feet away in front of me, rapidly advancing to a spot right between my feet.
Well, fuck. I guess if I’m coming through the ceiling of the garage, it’s better to relax so I don’t really get hurt.
Whoosh! Down I go through the floor. Do try to scramble to catch something, anything on my way down. Nope. Straight through the floor, manage to stick the landing. Throw up my arms in the air like Nadia Comenci. Whoot! Perfect ten!
Took a look around and notice I manage to avoid everything that could’ve really hurt me, like landing on a rake, or the ladder, or the tool cabinet…
Gapping whole in my roommate’s ceiling of her garage. Sigh. Guess I’ll go have a beer.
(Ended up with the entire underside of my right arm turning into a big, black, angry bruise. From trying to catch something, anything, on my way down.)
Oh, yeah. Cookbook was in the pantry in the kitchen.
rotflmaowtimy!! seriously. at work. my cubemates think i’ve lost my mind (little do they know…)
mine own contribution; not nearly so funny but about as knuckleheadedly-stupid as you can get.
the queen broke The Cardinal Rule of Those Who Live Alone: never ever, ever, ever [did i mention ever?] leave something on the stairs that you could trip or fall over.
you see where this is going, right?
some years ago now i wrapped up a long (14-hour) day as a poll inspector during a local election. after years of doing this, i’ve perfected the prerequisite emergency-needs-at-a-polling-station-take-along bag, which is more like a small suitcase. it’s amazing what can crop up during a day of this quiet insanity that you find yourself needing and i’ve gotten very good at having just the right whatever to hand.
one of my workers who has been with me for years had apparently decided to do something different this year and bake for a week in preparation for election day. the array of delectable goodies she brought in for us was truly worthy of a master baker. of course when she presented me with my very own box at the end of the day, no fool i, i accepted it.
normally, my emergency case is a masterwork of organization. normally. but now i found myself having to contend with a box of cookies, which greatly upset the symmetry of my neatly-ordered case.
hmmm. okay, i thought, the power strip can stay out so the extra-tasty cookies can go in and stay crumble-free.
yeah. shoulda thrown the box on the front seat of the car and left it.
i get home. i’m running late for theater rehearsal. i took the case upstairs with me to put it away like usual. however, for some reason that eludes me to this day, i opted to leave the power strip lying on the fourth or fifth stair riser from the bottom (the banister is an open design) as i made my way up the stairs.
the very same power strip that is always kept in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. did i mention always?
so, i grab a shower and prepare to head out. at my usual breakneck pace i thunder back down the stairs in the near-dark – and promptly put a foot down on the aforementioned power strip. my left foot, i think.
i greatly suspect that my instinctive mid-air acrobatics were a sight to behold. rudolph nureyev would have probably wept tears of outright joy at my form and presentation as i desperately attempted to stay upright during the drop of five or six feet. Somehow, i managed to stay perpendicular without flipping over down the staircase and breaking my damn fool back or neck.
it came to pass that i landed magnificently en pointe on my right foot, with the big toe taking all – did i mention all - of my weight and momentum.
snap crunch snap crunch ow.
yeah. that’s broken, i thought with a sigh. i shoved said foot into a sneaker and hightailed it to the nearest doc-in-the box. two hours, an x-ray and surgical shoe later, not only was it broken, it was a gold medal contender in the arena of nasty breaks the human body can be subjected to: a double-spiral fracture in two places.
this isn’t the kind of break where you can tape one toe to the other and shuffle around in a bedroom slipper for a few weeks. oh no. this is a load-bearing appendage that if you don’t fix right the first time will be a load of misery for you for the remainder of your life. two weeks in a wheelchair and six weeks on crutches pass before i’m allowed to walk on it again.
and i never did get to rehearsal that night.
I pictured something to do with a garage roof, a pile of leaves, and a makeshift Superman cape.
After reading this thread my mascara is smeared, my lip is split from laughing so hard, and I have no parts left which are not cringing. I look like a mugging victim trying to do the “Elaine Dance.”
I ran myself over with my own car.
Back in 2003-2004 or so, I had a 1989 Audi 200 with a multitude of problems. One of these was that it lacked a functioning reverse gear. Money was tight at the time, so I had dealt with it for months. The driveway at our house sloped upward from the street toward the house, and leveled off at the top. It wasn’t a steep slope, just enough to allow me to roll the car out into the street, turn, and drive off.
Normally I’d just start the car, leave it in neutral, get out and give it a push past the flat part of the driveway, and then run and hop in the car just as gravity started to take control of the situation. I had been doing this for months. This particular day was a snowy, icy winter day. I cleared just enough snow and ice from the driveway to allow the car to build up enough momentum to roll. The engine had been running, and eager to get into the car where it was warm, I gave it a push.
Just as it hit the sloped part of the driveway and began to roll down, I saw my roommate’s girlfriend pulling in. I frantically gestured “no!!” with my hands, but she thought I was greeting her enthusiastically and waved back to me. I made a mad dash to jump in the car and hit the brakes, and then came the moment where I regretted not clearing the driveway a bit better. In one fluid motion, I approached the side of the car, opened the door… and slipped on the icy driveway.
She managed to avoid hitting my car, though I’m not sure how, as the next events were rather intense for me. Once I had fallen, the corner of the open door caught me along my left side. The car, fully in gravity’s unfortunately capable hands, proceeded to drag me down the length of our driveway, and clear across the street, where it ran into the curb opposite of our driveway. The rear wheels hopped the curb, and the car finally came to a rest, with my head about a foot from the curb.
I sat there dazed and whimpering, and concluded that I was in pain, but I was otherwise fine, and got up. Everyone had come out of the house by this point, and came to help me into the house. They asked if I needed to go to the ER, I said I didn’t think so. As we went up the front steps, I fainted. I came to a few seconds later and we went in the house. I said I just needed to rest for a minute, then would go to work. I started to feel cold, shaky, and clammy, and started fainting again, so I said “OK, take me to the hospital.”
And of course, every doctor, nurse, etc, that I spoke to asked if I was the guy who ran himself over with his own car. It got pretty irritating until they gave me the morphine. As they were checking me in, the admissions nurse asked where it hurt. I pointed to my side, she lifted up my shirt, and that’s when we discovered the gaping gash in my side. It was a good four inches long, an inch or so wide, and two inches deep. It didn’t hit any major blood vessels, though, so I hadn’t bled very much.
I ended up getting several stitches for my wound which was treated as a “flank stab wound”. Also found out I had three broken ribs. Between the gash in my muscle, and the broken ribs, I was out of work for a month. Oops.
I did laugh about it, but not for several weeks.
ETA: I’ve got a scar any self-respecting street thug would be proud of.
Worker’s Comp Accident report:
“I am writing in response to your request for additional information, for block number 3 of the accident reporting form. I put ‘poor planning’ as the cause of my accident. You said in your letter that I should explain more fully and I trust the following detail will be sufficient. I am an amateur radio operator and on the day of the accident, I was working alone on the top section of my new 80-foot tower. When I had completed my work, I discovered that I had, over the course of several trips up the tower, brought up about 300 pounds of tools and spare hardware. Rather than carry the now unneeded tools and material down by hand, I decided to lower the items down in a small barrel by using the pulley attached to the gin pole at the top of the tower. Securing the rope at ground level, I went to the top of the tower and loaded the tools and material into the barrel. Then I went back to the ground and untied the rope, holding it tightly to ensure a slow decent of the 300 pounds of tools.”
“You will note in block number 11 of the accident reporting form that I weigh only 155 pounds. Due to my surprise of being jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope. Needless to say, I proceeded at a rather rapid rate of speed up the side of the tower. In the vicinity of the 40-foot level, I met the barrel coming down. This explains my fractured skull and broken collarbone. Slowed only slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not stopping until the fingers of my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley. Fortunately, by this time, I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold onto the rope in spite of my pain. At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of tools hit the ground and the bottom fell out of the barrel.”
“Devoid of the weight of the tools, the barrel now weighed approximately 20 pounds. I refer you again to my weight in block number 11. As you might imagine, I began a rapid descent down the side of the tower. In the vicinity of the 40-foot level, I met the barrel coming up. This accounts for the two fractured ankles, and the lacerations of my legs and lower body. The encounter with the barrel slowed me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell onto the pile of tools and, fortunately, only three vertebrae were cracked. I am sorry to report, however, that as I lay there on the tools, in pain, unable to stand and watching the empty barrel 80 feet above me, I again lost my presence of mind. I let go of the rope…”