Stare Into Space

Ahhh, me finger

Posted on | February 7, 2007 | Comments Off on Ahhh, me finger

Cryptic title I know, but all will become clear.

Yesterday, I took delivery of a consignment of manly power-tools. All men love power-tools (all men that I know anyway). I believe it’s the atavistic urge to do things with tools combined with the geeky pleasure that this particular tool has a plug on it and can do everything that our ancestor’s pointy sticks could but at 2000 times a minute. Power-tools are good.

Except when they hurt you.

Among my power-tools was a combined belt and disc sander. A useful addition to my arsenal and no mistake. The belt part of this sander is on the top and the disc part is on the side and the whole thing sits on your workbench. With me so far? Now, the belt needs to be ‘balanced’ or else it tries to wander off to one side or the other as it spins. There’s a little turny-thing to accomplish this balancing. As I was engaged in turning this turny thing with my attention focussed on the belt to determine which way it was wandering, I done a mistake. My little finger (I will never say ‘pinky’) made contact with the rough-grit, quickly-spinning sanding-disc part on the side.

Ahhhhhggh. You stupid bastard of a fucking sanding bitch. Jesus. My fucking finger, you fucking fucker.

I looked at my hand and was impressed to see that even this brief contact with the disc had managed to sand the top of my finger square. I jumped about for a bit holding my injured hand with my other hand and reeled a stream of expletives at the sander. Dripping blood all over the place, I rummaged through the first aid kit. I swore some more as the alcohol swab stung my newly-squared finger top like a swarm of maladjusted wasps.

Fucking antiseptic bastard.

I finally managed to get my finger wrapped up roughly with gauze and sticking plasters and eventually stopped swearing out loud but continued to think in swear words for another few minutes.

I’ve since changed the rough dressing for a couple of neater plasters that do little to improve my typing ability. It’s also quite sore at the moment. I wince every time I have to hit the right shift key. i may start typing everything in lower case.

still though. power tools. cool, eh?

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Gerry Hayes

Gerry Hayes

I mostly sit around all day and drink tea. Occasionally, I write stuff and send it to strangers so they can humiliate me and deride my efforts. Other than the self-harm to dull the shame of failure, it's not a bad life. Like I say, there's tea.

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