well, I knocked myself out briefly with a home made flail once in high school, does that count?
NOT for the squemish!
. . . there’s some pretty nasty pictures of a thumb injury, too.
(just ribbing you, GusNSpot ;))
Yuck. :eek:
I have so many stupid injury stories, its tough to pick just one to tell. There was the time when I was 13 or so and I had to get 16 stitches in my shin after I fell off a log. Ha Ha, yes, as easy as falling off a log, got it.
The most recent was just a few months ago. My boss took us all on a cruise to Cozumel. He wanted to play shuffleboard. Not my idea of a good time, but hey, he is my boss. On my first turn I go to give the disc thing a mighty push, I plant my left foot right on the one little patch of deck that was still wet. My foot went flying out from under me and I landed on the deck in a full split. I couldn’t do the splits when I was young and relatively limber, I sure as heck can’t do them now! I felt a variety of things rip and tear in my left butt cheek and hamstring. As I was sitting on the deck, trying desperately to regain some shred of my dignity, some knucklehead on the basketball court next to me said, “Wow, I’ve never seen anyone get hurt in a shuffleboard accident before”. Gee, thanks Buddy.
I don’t know what I did, but four months later my butt still hurts if I sit for very long.
Neat. Finally some pictures. A guy working in the same building as my brothers cut off his thumb at a Pizza Hut remodel. It was found the next day on a windowsill I made my brothers show me when there. The thing is the guy his wife and his son had all cut off fingers before that and on more than one occasion for each. I think that family should have gotten the hint and not used power saws.
Ripping game sir. Ripping!
Ah, this takes me back. It didn’t result in an injury at all except for some soreness, but it’s pretty funny nonetheless.
I was working at a ski resort some years ago, and at the end of the shift I took off running down the stairs to the timeclock. Now the timeclock was right in front of the exit door and as quite a few snowfooted people had come in through the course of the evening, the floor in front of the timeclock was a wee bit wet and slick. I jumped the last two stairs at the bottom and PRESTO! Instant (and dare I say perfect) jazz splits. I probably could have sold it as being an on purpose stunt if I’d had the ability to get up afterwards.
Ah yes, the getting up afterwards part. I had several, very well meaning people come over and offer to help me get up. I kept thinking, “If you really want to help, shoot the smart ass on the basketball court and just leave me to die here on the deck, thank you very much”. There is just no way to recover from that and still look cool.
I’ve fallen onto a stool with my face. No idea how, wasn’t doing anything complex, just wham!, stool.
I’ve also shut my head in a car door. Got no sympathy for that one at all.
Ooh ooh ooh, I remembered another one.
Clock-winding injury.
About two years ago, I was helping my dad pack, as his job was taking him to a new city. He didn’t want to haul an old regulator clock with him, so he offered it to me. I’d always thought it was pretty nifty, and I knew there was a perfect spot to stick it on my living room wall, so I took Dad up on the offer.
As soon as I got home, I put the clock up on the wall, took out the key, and started to wind it. Operative words here being “started to.” I turned the key a half-turn, and then let go so that I could reorient my hand to give it another half-turn.
Letting go was a mistake.
As soon as I relaxed my grip, the key whipped back around incredibly fast–and I didn’t pull my hand out of the way in time. The edge of the key struck my right thumb, where it bludgeoned a gash into my cuticle, all the way down to the nail. (If the nail hadn’t been there to stop it, I don’t even want to know how deep the cut would have been.) Of course, cuticles bleed like mad, so I spend the next hour trying to stop the bleeding while my roommate laughed at me.
I’ve been racking my brain for my most ridiculous injury, and I’ve got nothing compared to these posts.
I did once manage to close my hand in my car door, that was locked and I don’t have a fancy button to push so I had to dig through my purse with my left hand and unlock the door before I could free myself. That smarted.
Then there was the time my bike attacked my foot. So, I was about 6, riding my new big girl bike in flip flops. I lost a shoe, but wasn’t in a huge hurry to turn around and get it. So I continued on down the street, then thought to myself, “I wonder if I could pedal one-footed?” So I tried, pedaling with only my shoeless foot. Of course, this didn’t work too well and I think I only managed a quarter-turn before my foot flew forward into the spokes of my front wheel. Ripped a bunch of skin off the bottom of my foot, and I had to hobble home all bloody-footed. That kind of sucked.
It wasn’t much of an injury, but everybody did this at some time. We had an old Frigidaire with the metal lined freezer section and latching door before magnetic seals when I was a kid. The two metal ice cube trays had a small metal section in the freezer where you put them so they were out of the way of the frozen food. The old metal ice cube trays had a metal handle you pulled up to release the ice cubes from the ice cube tray. There were a couple problems that would get you with this set up.
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You would fill the tray and slide it into the little area for the trays. The back of your wet hand would stick to the metal compartment when you bumped it. You tore away your hand and some skin.
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Sweating in summer allowed enough moisture on your hand that reaching into the freezer for something and bumping the compartment would stick your skin to the metal. You tore away your hand and some skin.
3.The The same as number two but you grabbed the metal ice cube tray. You then had to rush to the sink and run the tray and your hand under running water, while gently prying your fingers away from the tray.
The modern plastic lined freezers and ice cube trays are wonderful. The automatic ice makers and extras are a nice convenience, but it’s the switch to plastic that is the best change.
When I was about 15, I was laying on my stomach on my bed sharpening a pocket knife. It didn’t look sharp, so I pressed it with my thumb. It didn’t feel sharp. For some reason I pressed it to my heel and made a cutting motion. I had to walk on my toes for awhile.
When I was 16, I was jumping on my trampoline and botched a front flip. Back flips are much easier than front flips, so I rarely did front flips. I didn’t spin enough in the air and landed on my back, with my heels slamming into the frame of the trampoline. I had a bruise the size of a half-dollar on one.
I’m actually developing a minor rupture as I am reading this thread in the library and trying to contain my great amusement.
I have a couple to share. The first was when I lived in Dortmund, Germany (Army kid) in the early 70’s. I was the extremely proud owner of a Chopper bike and had a blast riding everywhere. One evening on my way home, I am pondering the eternal verities as you do aged 10 when I wonder how successfully I could ride my bike with my eyes closed.
When I woke up after a period of time (no idea how much) I look up to see a circle of faces peering at me. A busload of Germans had stopped to check me out on their way to work… I discovered that it wasn’t a successful approach to bike riding especially where lamp-posts are situated.
I think I just got up and rode on home, I certainly didn’t attend A&E.
Second one about the same age but in Larkhill. Playing on some open ground with a bunch of mates I am being chased and aiming for a gap in a link fence, unfortunately I neglect to remember that at the top of the gap is the wire that joins the fence between posts.
Cue comedy (almost literally) clothes-line that caught me in the mouth and tore a cut into the lower gum of my mouth. Very bloody, very painful.
Cheers 
I’ve had a couple…
When I was in 3rd grade, we were having a pinecone war on my street. Me & my stepbrother vs. the world. We had a fort (my mom’s Malibu) and a cache of pinecones. We were ready to take them on. For some odd reason, I left the fort for more ammo. As I was pummeled with pinecones from all directions, I decided I needed to be back in the car. I dove head-first (what other way is there??) into the car, but jumped just a bit too high. I smashed my head on the top of the door, opening my head wide open. My step-brother was kind of a weenie about blood and ran in the house screaming “Anthony is dying!! Anthony is dying!!” When I walked in the house & mom saw me, she grabbed a towel and her car keys, they knew me by name at the ER! 10 stitches top center of my skull.
Second one is more recent, funnier and required no stitches. I was loading some pipe in the back of my pickup truck for work. It was raining lightly. As I stretched the bungee cord around the pipe and tried to get the hook end in the loop on the truck, it slipped out of my hand, the bungee cord released all its energy into whipping around the pipe and smacking me between the eyes full-force with the metal end. I saw stars, was way dizzy and probably shouldn’t have driven to the jobsite, but I was laughing too hard to think straight. I had the imprint of the coiled metal right between the eyes for the rest of the day.
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I closed a car door once and started to walk away, but couldn’t. I turned to see that my fingers were closed in the latched door. No broken bones, but quite a lot of blood.
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I jumped over the back of the couch once to sit down next to Harborwolf, when my ass suddenly exploded in pain. I started shrieking and jumped up to see a pencil stuck between the couch cushions pointy end up. I had slammed down on the pencil point, stabbing myself in the right butt cheek. Oh my God, it hurt sooooo bad.
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I leaned over a rope enclosure to pet a horse once, and suddenly felt like someone had kicked me in the back. I realized then that the rope had been electric wire to keep the horse from running off.
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Not me, but a friend of mine in high school pulled his groin really badly by demonstrating something he saw in the Street Fighter movie. He got hurt, and was limping for a week or so. THEN, a few weeks later, we were all hanging out, and the conversation turned to his injured groin. He got up to demonstrate how he’d hurt himself the first time, and ended up injuring his groin again.
I closed the trunk of a car just in time to catch my brother’s fingers in it. Thing is, the trunk latched, trapping him there until I could run around the car and unlock the door and unlatch the trunk.
Most ridiculous? Sitting on a toilet and twisting around to grab a magazine that was sitting on the toilet tank. My back went “twang” and I ended up in the hospital.
Stupid reflexes? Sharpening a lawnmower blade. The wrench slipped and I instinctively grabbed the blade with my other hand. The part I grabbed was the part I’d sharpened really well.
When I was a teenager, I was trying to fix a misbehaving electric car window and ended up slamming my hand in the rear door. While sitting in the front seat. There was simply no way to contort my body far enough to open that door. I yelled for a while, but it was a very rural area and nobody heard me. I finally honked the horn until my parents came out and rescued me. The embarrassment was worse than the injury.
Carrying a box of books and stuff down the stairs for a coworker. Partway down, I nearly lost my grip on the box, and proceeded to pop a few fibers in my right thigh trying to save it. :smack: I had to be pulled up and spent the next few days walking a little oddly with a nice bruise where things popped.
(To put things in perspective, the box must’ve been 40#, and was fairly large too, so it was a bit hard to keep my grip on it)
I’ve told this story before, but in a nutshell: Sticking my fingers into a pair of scissors operated by my little sister. Lots of blood and panicking ensued.
I’m not sure what modern medicine would do these days, but I know I wound up having the severed bit of thumb (right in the upper center of my thumbprint) pasted back on and my arm in a cast held vertically for the next six weeks until it grew back on. The scar’s the shape and diameter of a paper punch hole, and is still there some 25 years later.