Buttcheek! That reminds me! Once, while shaving my legs in the shower, I passed my razor from my left hand to my right behind my back. I don’t know why I did that, I haven’t done it before or since. Of course, I fumbled the razor. I didn’t want to let it drop because the razor would pop off the shaver and I’d have to bend down twice to pick them up–I was having back trouble at the time. I ended up with a 6" long cut on my butt. Damn that stung.
The next day (or two?) my massage therapist caught a peek of my cheek and did an 'OMG!". I had some 'splaining to do.
I managed to splash gasoline onto a pair of polyester pants I was wearing. The gas started melting the fabric together and onto my skin in places. Luckily I have never been one to go commando, or this story would have been much more appropriate to this thread.
Ever since I have been very careful not to yank the gas nozzle out of the filler neck quite so recklessly, even though I haven’t had to wear polyester pants for quite a long time.
This needs more explaining. How does one get one’s hand stuck in an electronic credit card machine? :dubious: It may be something I need to know. . . or not.
OOOH, sweetie, that is awful. I recommend heading to the drug store and getting either some lanolin or some gel breast pads - both available in the baby/breastfeeding area. That will protect your nipple and allow for moist wound healing, which is the fastest.
I know this because when I had my first baby, the midwives said, “She’s tongue-tied, want us to clip it?” and I said no, because I was all about low intervention and didn’t want to have a “surgical procedure” on my baby unless it was shown to be necessary. Two days later, with nipples like ground beef, I brought her back in to get clipped!
A few weeks ago at work I rubbed my nipples raw with the cheapo polyester work shirts(I was stacking bags, so there was a lot of friction since i would hold them against my chest). One was rubbed raw and bled a bit and scabbed up. I took to wearing duct tape pasties the next few days while the damage healed, and learned a lesson about the importance of cotton undershirts.
The worst was when I was in the navy… The packing* on one of the feed pumps was leaking profusely after one of the nubs had tightened it too much and burned it out. We got the pump tagged out, isolating it from the system, and I proceeded to pull out the old packing material. Unfortunately, I forgot to drain said pump, which happened to pump 200F water. And it had only sat idle for about 45 minutes, so it was still pretty much 200F. As the last ring of packing came out, the several gallons of 200f water that were still inside the pump and piping came flooding out, and splashed all over my chest, stomach, and mr. happy and the twins. Fortunately, I had tied my coveralls around my waste, which meant there was a big knot of fabric in front of mr. happy, but he still got hit by some of it, resulting in some 2nd degree burns here and there, and lots of first degree. My chest and stomach were covered in mostly 2nd degree burns.
Unpleasant.
Needless to say, I learned my lesson.
*packing is a soft material that goes around the shaft of a pump or valve to prevent fluid inside from leaking out.
At a place where I worked once upon a time, there was a grossly overweight very large breasted woman who worked there too. She claimed to be a swinger and talked of little else but sex; she always wore a tee shirt sans bra and did whatever she could to keep her headlights burning. The work she performed required her to use a hot plate and sure enough, she laid one of her very large, very prominent nipples smack on the hot plate. And of course it burned a large hole in the tee shirt and then it burned her nipple. And she could not find a man in the place who would help her apply ointment. I’m talking about guys who would have sex with a rotten dead snake but who would not apply ointment to the poor burned nipple. She wanted someone else to apply the ointment because she needed both hands to hold the breast in the proper position----they were very big; she usually wore them at waist level.
She didn’t ask any of the women, so far as I know, and she eventually put the ointment on herself. She resigned about a week later. I had forgotten that incident until I read this thread.
Back when I had just finished high school I was working at a local pub. On the day of infamy I had nearly completed a busy lunch shift and decided I would call my gf to see what kind of trouble we could get into that night. The phone I chose to use just happened to be beside the credit card imprinter, similar to this one http://credit-card-imprinters.com/840/840-pump-handle-credit-card-imprinter.html I called my gf, and while chatting her up, started fiddling with the credit card imprinter, opening aand closing it mindlessly, with my free hand. The conversation that ensued went something like this;
Me: “So what movie do want to go see?”
Gf: " I dunno. Not that Porkies movie. There’s too many naked women in it."
Me: “Man I heard there weren’t enough naked chicks in it hahahahahahaha!”
Gf: What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re such a bastard sometimes!"
Me: Aw come babe, I was just kiddooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
Fuckow shit fuck!
Gf: Don’t you talk to me like that! Asshole!"
Me: Shit! Not you! Owwwww fuck. That fucking hurts!
Gf: Well tooo bad you shouldn’t talk"
Me: I gotta go. I’ll call you back
Gf: Don’t you hang up on me! I swear I’ll"
click
I then proceeded to try to extricate my hand from the credit imprinter. A colleague of mine, only slightly brighter than me, happened by. I enlisted his help, but between the two future MENSA members we couldn’t get my hand to budge. By this time my hand was throbbing and feeling very much like staten island pretzel. I decided I was not going to lose the use of one of my hands in such an embarassing way, and proceed to use the aforementioned phone with my one good hand to call 911. They came. All of them. The cops. The ambulance. And the firemen. Sirens ablazin’ and everything. Took six firemen with the jaws of life fours hours to get me out.
Ok, it was more like two firemen, a pair of snippers, and about four minutes.
The real kicker? Turns out there was a release switch on the bottom of the imprinter. :smack:
It took my hand about three days to fully recover. My ego on the other hand, was bruised for alot longer.
My son, when he was six or seven was hanging around with his baseball bat in one hand and decided to use it as a stool. It was a little taller than his legs, so he put it in front of him at an angle and levered his way up…
turned white as a sheet (he’s Korean, white as a sheet is an accomplishment) and fell over.
And I - unfortunately - couldn’t stop laughing while I helped him up. Bad mom!
A similar incident when I was a teenager taught me to never wear a low-cut shirt when working at the movie theater. As I was in front of customers at the time I was unable to retrieve the extremely hot, oil-covered, unpopped kernel from where it had ensconced itself within my bra. The guy in the front of the line thought it was quite amusing as I recall.
I went paintballing once. Most of the paint balls hit in places that weren’t bad. There was the one that made me decide that paintballing wasn’t for me. That one left a bruise six inches across. yowch.
Of course. Since the photos would be of an injury and how the injured region appeared before the injury, the photographs would be completely clinical.
This reminds me of a cartoon I saw in a Playboy once. A naked woman is bounding from the bed and out the door with her hands between her legs. Her paramour is sitting up in the bed holding a small jar and exclaiming, ‘Oh, my God! Vicks!’
Burned mine off at a party once. Homeboy lost his in a camping trip about the same did, as did another buddy not too long after that, only he happened into that condition on account of a fight with a goat. True story. It can take a while, and even so it’s still a little awkward, but it did come back.
