Laceration

I cut my thumb at work last night while washing the dishes. Not a little paper cut thing, nothing that simple. I mean a deep cut. The cut is not across the tip on the thumb, no, it's up and down, so when ever I grab something I can feel the cut spilt open and sting.

Like I wrote, I was washing dishes when the cut happened, but I didn't cut it on a knife. I cut my thumb on the thing that hangs from the wall and holds the ice teas and iced coffee. Why that would be made so sharp is something I can't (and don't really want to) fathom. As soon as I saw the cut, I tucked my thumb into my palm, curled the rest of my finger over it, and went in search of Band-Aids (or adhesive bandagess, for those Randals of the world). Can you guess what happened? After a couple of minutes rummaging through the first aid kit, I found no Band Aides.

On my way to the front of the store, I grabbed a paper towel, wrapped it around my thumb, then retucked and recurled.

"Are Band-Aids only kept in the first aid kit?" I asked BCTB.

"What?" she asked. I repeated my question. "Yup, that the only place," she said. "Why?"

"Oh, I was just looking for them and couldn't find any. I cut myself and figure I shouldn't get blood on the drinks." I headed back to the kit to check again.

As I finished up my third time going through all the pockets, The Manager came back.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Lookin' for Band-Aids," I said, starting a fourth search.

"Did you cut yourself?"

"Yup."

"Find any?" She started to look over my shoulder as I pushed the bag (yes, a bag) of aspirin aside, again.

"Nope."

"Do you really think you need one?"

"Yup. See," I said unwrapping my thumb and showing her the cut.

"Oh, dear God," she said (I swear I could hear the uppercase "G" in her voice.) and took a step away from me.

I turned back to the kit and said, "And that's why I keep looking."

"Here," she said, "I'll get you five dollars from my till. You can run to the store and get a box." She started walking toward the front of the store then turned back to me. "Will five dollars be enough? Do you think it'll cover it? Do you think it'll be enough?"

"Yes."

"I'm not sure it'll be enough."

She walked out front. I zipped the kit up, put it back on the shelf, and headed out front. The Manager handed me a five. I slipped off my apron, hung it up, and headed out the store.

I have to admit, once I got out the front door, I took my time. I didn't want to hurry back to serve the public. Who does? (Not those people in Washington, that's for sure.)

Rather than making this short story long, I'll just say I found Band-Aids (the real brand) on sale. I put two on my thumb (When I saw the paper towel I sang to myself, "I once was brown, but now am red / was clean, now am dirty.") and when I bled through both I put a third on. I couldn't put on any Neosporinesque stuff until I got back to the apartment, which I did, but that was three hours later.

Now, my thumb is wrapped in two non-Band-Aid brand Band-Aids, but it still stings, especially when I pick things up. Oh, did I mention that it's the thumb on my right hand and that I'm right handed? Well, it is and I am, and that makes things all the more uncomfortable.