Some times I wasn’t exactly a bright kid.
I modified several bottle rockets by chopping of the end that explodes at the end of the flight, and used them as propulsion devices for paper airplanes.
That was fun and all, but I wanted to see how much thrust was actually being generated. So, I held one in my hand and lit it.
Not a good idea… Those things get unbelievably hot! I had nice large blisters on my fingers, as well as pretty painful burns.
Put my hand in a still moving lawn mower, to remove the wet grass that was clogging it. Luckliy, I had reduced the power down from full to 1/4, so I got nothing worse than some cuts and a few very sore fingers.
Shortly after I moved to Florida, I had my first experience with ceiling fans.
Stood up and stretched right underneath one.
whackwhackwhack OWWW!
Now I’m very careful about them, and there are none in the galen household.
Thinks to self: Hmmm, is that electric grill (broiler, whatever) on? I’m sure they glow red when they’re on. It doesn’t look very on. Maybe I’ll just tap my fingers against that element there to see if it’s warming up…
Did you know, skin can actually kind of melt?
I couldn’t bend my fingers for weeks.
When I was just 3 years old, I got the bright idea that I wanted to go waterskiing. In the bathtub. So, while my sister was “supposed” to be watching me, I climbed out of the bathtub, got two bars of soap, and a pair of shoelaces. I tied the soap to each foot, climbed up in the corner of the bathtub, and jumped onto the water. Well, just so you know, soap slips on the bottom of the tub, especially when there’s water involved. And little three year old faces tend to get cracked up on the metal track for the shower doors. I have a small scar about a quarter of an inch from my right eye, that took 4 stitches (2 inside, 2 outside) to repair.
When I was 16, I went with a girl to an annual reggae concert they have here. We were sitting on the steps of the Customs House, which kind of resembles some of the historic government buildings in DC. It’s got really wide steps, and at the top there are several columns. Well, we were sitting on the steps, minding our business, I thought. She decided it would be funny to take some of the beers that belonged to the guy sitting next to us. He did not find this amusing, and proceded to chase us to the edge of the steps. There is about a 12-15 foot drop there, and at the bottom there is a marble sidewalk. Well, she screamed jump, so I jumped, and landed lock-kneed on the pavement. Somehow, she landed on the grass. ($#&*%!) Then, I got up, somehow continued to run like hell, only to have to have physical therapy for the next 3 months. I crushed the cartiliage in my knees, (not fun) tore the meniscus (sp?), and basically ended my soccer/volleyball playing days. I ended up not having to have surgery until I was 26, when I re-injured the left knee by swinging around on a swivel chair to answer a phone at work, and slammed it into the filing cabinet.
We used to play hide and seek in the graveyards downtown at night. (Ok, it sounds disrespectful, but we weren’t bad kids.) We used to go to this one graveyard that was about 200-250 years old. (John C. Calhoun is buried there.) Well, we were all hanging out, having fun, when someone says the cops are coming. (Suprise suprise.) So, we all run like hell to the low wall to get out. On my way there, I trip on a footstone, and conk myself out on the headstone. (I had nightmares forever about this. When I’m in a graveyard, I’m paranoid about not stepping on the graves of others.) I woke up about half an hour later, alone, in a graveyard, after midnight. Another friend of mine had completely torn his knee open trying to clear the wall, so everyone had been pre-occupied taking care of him to notice my absence. Gah… It still gives me the heebie jeebies.
Okay, so it’s January in NYC. Very cold. I am charging through the apartment in my beloved military-issue greatcoat, approx. weight 90 lbs., because I am late for work. Where are my boots? Oh, there they are, right next to my stupid little three-legged Ikea stool. I go to plant myself down on the stool so I can pull my boots on…
Except that the tail of the coat, draping down as it does from my extended butt, sweeps the stool back over onto the carpet. Remember how I mentioned this was a three-legged stool? That’s important, because it means that two of its legs are now on the floor, and the third is pointing at about a 45-degree angle into the air.
Blissfully unaware, I continue the sitting-down. Only…where is that stool? Shouldn’t I have made contact by now? And I’m really gathering some speed here, sooner or later I’m gonna OWWWWWWWWWWW the upraised foot of the stool has struck me dead in the center of my tailbone. The seat of the stool is now just below my shoulder-blades. I am sprawled on my back across the top of the three-legged stool in a peculiar yoga position.
I laugh hysterically at my own clumsiness for about 30 seconds before I notice the pain. Pain which gets steadily worse over the next three days as the bone bruise really set in. Nothing was broken, but I walked funny for about two weeks.
Okay, here are my more memorable injuries:
Age 10: I was with a female friend (not a girlfriend, hence the distinction) and we were out riding bikes. My dirt bike must have had a flat tire or something since I was borrowing my older sister’s ten-speed (it was a unisex-styled bike, not a “girl’s” bike). There was a hill nearby with a fairly long run and was good for really getting up some speed on it. At the bottom of the hill was a wooden ramp that some other kids must have left behind. I was used to going off jumps and the like with my trusty ol’ Huffy dirt bike. As you can probably see where this story is heading, I’ll just skip to that part. That’s right, I learned the hard way that ten-speeds don’t perform as well for such stunts. I was thrown off the bike and I landed on my forehead and I was disoriented for a couple minutes, must have been on the verge of getting knocked unconscious. I also broke one of my front two teeth. For the next few years I had a mismatched, discolored false tooth before it was finally replaced with a more real-looking one.
Age 12: A friend and I decided to have some pyromaniacal fun with gasoline. I had a dirt play area in which I had built several roads for “driving” around my Hot Wheels/Matchbox cars. We poured gasoline all over these little roads (having removed my precious collection of cars first, of course). After we lit the big inferno the flames had spread to the gas can, which we thought we had placed at a safe distance from the fire zone. Apparently the can leaked and had dripped a trail of gasoline to where it was placed. The outside of the can caught flame from the residual fuel spillage on it. Miraculously, the gas still inside the can (there wasn’t much left) was never ignited. With the can still aflame, we kicked it away from the fire we had lit and managed to extinguish it by kicking it along the ground. So where’s the injury story here? After the fire on the can was out I immediately picked it up, only to remember that seconds ago it had been on fire and that metal is a very good conductor of heat. Needless to say I dropped the can right away and endured burned and blistered fingers for the next couple days.
Age 18: I was at my first job (hint: “Home of the Whopper”). I had been there for about four months. One night it was really busy and I was rushed to keep up with the pace. I was getting ready to slice a chicken sandwich. In my haste I didn’t realize my left ring finger was in the way of the knife as I let it rip. I had to get stitches (don’t remember how many). 13 years later I still have the scar to prove it, which would make me very easy to identify should I ever decide to rob a bank someday (not that I would, of course).
When I was nine years old, I came upon an apparently abandoned car sitting in a vacant lot. I got into the front seat (the car was about 1954 vintage) and closed the door, and with considerable force, poked my right foot through the window! Now that was dumb: I cut a gash in my right ankle, and it didn’t really heal for a couple of weeks!:o
A couple weeks ago I was eating some pizza and breadsticks in my dorm room chair with my dipping sauce tediously balanced on the arm rest. Of course I spill the sauce all over me and the chair. A nice stain formed on the chair so I figured the best way to get it out was to get a cup of hot water, pour some detergent in it, and pour it on the stained chair. It actually worked pretty well, and I didn’t even use the whole cup. So I went to bed that night happy. I woke up the next morning and noticed the cup of water on my desk, and drank it all down before I realized what I had done. It burned like the fires of hell. I don’t know the concentration of detergent in the cup, but it was enough to give me a sore throat and a hoarse voice for a couple weeks.
There are many others, but this should do for the first time, eh?
I was fairly young at the time, I don’t remember my exact age. Getting into bed had become a boring routine. I decided to make it more intersting by running towards the bed as fast as i could. If I jumped at just the right time, I would go sailing through the air and land on my bed unharmed. This worked rather well the first few times. The last time, it did not. To explain, at the time, my bed was essentially a matress on top of a oak box/drawer thing. I used the drawer to store extra blankets and sheets. Now back to the narration. I must have slipped on something, and instead of diving onto my bed, I dived headfirst into the bed, striking my head into the corner of this solid wooden box thing. Pain. My mom, seeing me crying, and the egg sized bump on my head, took me to the doctor. Not sure if I had a concussion, the entire practice of doctors lined up outside my examining room, all taking their turn to look into my eyes to try to determine if any of the blood vessels had ruptured. I don’t think I’ll forget that any time soon. I have one or two other stories, but I did not cause them, so I will leave them out of this thread…e-mail me if you want to hear them
I did something similar to this, though there were hardly any injuries to speak of, just that I felt really stupid afterwards. I used to go running into my bedroom and jump onto my bed. Considering that it was at night and the light was off, I couldn’t see what was in front of me and just knew where my bed was. Well, one day I re-arranged my bedroom. That night I ran into my bedroom the way I always did, only to forget that my bed was no longer where it used to be. I didn’t realize this until I came crashing down on my Lego town that I had built in the corner of my room formerly occupied by my bed. This portion of the “town”, several buildings and cars, was destroyed, of course, and my sisters got quite a laugh out of it when they inquired what the crashing noise they heard was.
I’m in college it’s Friday night and I have been drinking. Somehow the discussion among my friends has turned to the durability of the paper used in making US currency. Something along the lines of how rag paper transmits heat so if you held a lit cigarette against a bill on a table it burn the table not the bill. Somehow human flesh is substituted for the table and a friend and I are now in competition to see how long we can stand to have a lit cigarette pressed against a $20 bill on the backs of our hands. The winner gets the other guy’s $20 bill. I “win” as my friend backs down after less than 5 seconds. I trying to prove my metal keep the cigarette in place until it goes out. For a measely $20 I have a permanent scar which is clearly visible to this day.
A slightly older supposedly wiser Jimson is home for my last Christmas with the family having just proposed to Mrs. Jimson. I’m ironing my sport jacket for Xmas morning mass. The iron was old and cranky so was the ironing board. I needed to use one hand to steady the board and hold down my jacket and the other is obviously holding the iron. The wrinkles are stubbornly refusing to iron out. My thought “the iron must not be hot, I should test it. But how both hands are occupied. I know I’ll use my cheek.” I bring the iron up and slowly bring it closer to the right side of my face until I can feel it’s hot. I feel nothing until I’ve pressed it up against my face. It’s actually quite hot and it burns me, rather badly. I set the iron down and go straight to the bathroom. There in the mirror from just above my right eye to the middle of my cheek I can clearly see the partial iron imprint replete with steam holes.
Two amazing things happened, I healed without a scar and Mrs. Jim still agreed to marry me even after I told her what happened.
So many to choose from…
The big kids down the street were going to race their bikes. I was thrilled that I was finally allowed to join in the fun. I got my bike going faster than I’d ever dreamed possible. Really screaming down the street in front of my house. Then I remembered, that street went into a busy street that I wasn’t allowed to go on. Now as I’m flashing by my home, I’ve got to turn into the driveway before I’m flattened by the traffic.
I slam on the coaster brakes. This of course was the very first time I’d ever braked hard at all, and of course the skid took me completely by surprise. The bike and I went flying in different directions. I wound up going head first into the mailbox post. No damage, just moved the post a bit. For myself, I only remember waking up with mom holding ice on my forehead. Had a huge purple bump from eyebrow to hairline.
During my junior high days, I lit a plastic pipe to drop molten plastic on ants. (I know the women reading this are saying “Dumb guys” and the guys are nodding “Been there, done that”.) It was going well, until I turned and a flaming blob landed on the back of my left hand. Whooooweee! Second degree burn and the scar is still faintly visible.
In college, I dropped something in the dorm room air conditioning unit. “No problem, I can fish it out with my great big old screwdriver” went the brain. Of course, as I’m poking around, I made contact with a hot wire. An interesting sensation, but not one I ever want to duplicate. I jerked free, my arm sort of numb but hurting, from fingertips to shoulder for about a half hour. Then I got to call in a problem report for the air conditioner. “I don’t know what’s wrong, it just quit working.”
gsgfgf
i was bout 6-8 and pumping gas…i kept in mind that my mom often told me to hold the gas nossel all the way in…i wondered what would happen if i didnt…not too smart…luckily the gas station had summin to wash my eyes out with
I punched my brother in the head and broke my pinky.
I tripped and broke two bones in my ankle.
I cracked my head open by running into the corner of a doorway when I was a little kid.
Brilliant thread
I’ve been really lucky in not injuring myself, but have some good stories:
Bike story 1:
Pez apprx 14yrs riding on his rather new 10-speed thru grass fields with a friend. Patch of taller grass in the middle of the field. Of cource I MUST ride thru the tall grass, which of course hides a big rock. I turned into Super-Pez for ´bout 5 meters. No injury but front fork of bike bent 45 degrees back.
Bike story 2:
Riding back to the dorm after shopping with groceries in backpack, decide to take a shortcut but fail to notice chain across the road and hit it at a respectable speed. Result: I do cartwheels and end up sitting in FRONT of the bike with my backpack on my stomach and bike standing behind me. Would have won USD 1 mil in americas funniest home video if someone had got that on tape.
Approx 4yrs old, I´m playing in kitchen and turn on the stove but can’t figure out which of the plates is turn on, so decide to test it: #1 touch real fast, is cold, #2 touch real fast, is also cold so therefore #3 (of 3) must also be cold and put my palm down on it. Bad burns but no scars.
Have cut myself many times with knifes, most often when drunk and have some cool scars but no lasting harm until just before last xmas when I fell on a piece of broken glass and cut thru one of the nerves in my palm. fortunetly drunk enought to feel no pain and just grabbed a snowball and held it in my hand as I walked to the hospital. Got a cool Z-like scar in my palm as a result of the surgery to connect the nerve again. Result: total loss of feeling in half of one finger, hopefully will come back as nerve grows back. Had to learn to use mouse with left hand while in plaster which was very good form my CTS.
Enough for now
Some of these are really impressive…and scary! 
I about 14 or 15 and at a dental appt. Did NOT want to be there, was really fidgety the whole time. As soon as the hygenist finished, I swung my legs off the chair and on to the…equipment tray. Ended up with the hooked part of a metal instrument stuck in my calf. Hygenist freaked, dentist (and also next-door neighbor) just shook his head, pulled it out (OUCH!) and gave me a tetnus shot.
More to come…
Once I slammed a door during the course of an argument with my mom, and managed to slam it on my right index finger. Closed and latched. There was a moment of dead silence while I processed the fact that the door was closed and my finger was compressed into the tiny gap between the door and the frame. Then I screamed at the top of my lungs. I’m not sure if I broke the finger or what; I put ice on it and it was very painful and swollen for a couple weeks, but it healed normally.
One of my friends bought a metal grappling hook, which one could supposedly tie to a rope, toss up to a tree branch, hook on and climb the rope. Well, he tossed it up and missed the branch, so he reached out and caught it. That must have been a fun one to explain to the ER doctor.
Actually, I’ve made out very well in my 18 years in terms of avoiding injury. I have never been to a hospital for any reason since birth. It’s especially interesting because I’ve done a lot of auto repair, tree climbing, and other stuff that one might think would cause injuries. I guess one day the law of averages will catch up with me.
-Andrew L
Not sure if we’re going for physical injuries, embarrassment or what…
Age 5: Had a friend who was the daughter of my father’s coworker over for playtime… found my dad’s Hustler magazines, turned off the lights, popped on the red night light, and decided to mimic what we saw inside… got caught by my stepmother…
Age 5: Ate an entire jar of Spiderman vitamins under the idea that they’d help me walk on walls. Not only did it not work, but I only barely avoided having my stomach pumped.
Age 6: Went sledding in the fresh snow near a baseball diamond… dad told me “Stay away from the dugout.” First target: dugouts. Flew off them going full tilt, dropped the five feet or so to the ground and kept sledding. No injuries.
Age 8: Playing army in the woods with one of those rat-tat-tat machine guns, other kids decided they didn’t want me to play. Got so pissed I threw the machine gun at a tree. Hard. Where it then cracked in half and the butt end flew off and cracked another kids skull, requiring 6 stitches.
Age 9: Climbing up the steep hill behind our apartment, using roots as handholds. Made it about thirty feet up when snap, a root came off in my hand. Had that one moment of “How dare you?” looking at the root, then tumbled head over heels to the bottom, where I cracked my skull. 15 stitches
Age 10: Same backyard area, playing wiffle ball. Pitching from about 12 feet from the batter, a big kid with a strong right arm. Pitched, he hit the ball, and I kept my eye on it… literally. Caught the ball with my left eye, blood everywhere, etc.
That night, was so rambuncious at the hospital, waking up other kids to play with, etc, that the hospital staff decided I was plenty well enough to heal at home…
Age 12: Playing on those spring-type teeter totters, hopping from one to the next. Slipped on one and sprained my ankle. Had to be at the store by 3:00, so I crawled 8 blocks on knees to the store fearing getting in trouble.
Age 12: Got caught building a fire pit for my GI Joes in the backyard. Under a shrub bush. Using kerosene for the Pit O’Fire. Main source of evidence: Well, I’d been hanging the plastic baggie of kerosene over the fire, where it melted and spilled onto my shoe. I was in the back of the shrub cave, and had to leap over the fire in the 3’x2’x3’ space to get out, as my sneaker was on fire and jump into the stream, where I met up with a 5 foot water moccasin, who looked none happy at me.
Age 12: While writing “I will not set fire to the shrubbery” and “I will not play with fire” 1000 times each, got caught burning small scraps of paper on the light bulb in my room, since Wet Paper + Active Lightbulb = Exploding Lightbulb, resulting in a piece of lightbulb glass being embedded in my left brow.
(Not sure if I took some years off here or if I’ve just blocked the memories)
Age 16: While clearing out trees behind my house, was breaking off one particular branch that had soft bark and wet sap… the branch decided to stay, slipped from under my foot, and snapped up with great strength and speed, crushing my cartelidge (sp?) in my nose. I now can squish my nose into my skull with relative ease.
Age 22: While LARPing (Live Action Role Play), was hiding in some underbrush, where I received about 50+ chigger bites in my butt. I am now nicknamed “Speckle Ass”.
Age 26: First time skiing in over 20 years, decided to try a black diamond… went well until I noticed one my skis heading in a direction opposite me… broken ankle.
I’m still alive, and I’m sure I’ve missed a few dozen, but I’m sure I’ll collect a few more…
JP