Thursday, April 12, 2012

Jael kills the beast

So, I'm running water for Emily's bath and I noticed this huge hornet-wasp thing just sitting there looking fearsome.

Then I did something that I have never done before--I acted like a helpless woman and asked my husband if he wanted the chance to kill it.

What was I thinking?  Is his inner predator going to emerge and he's going to want charge into the bathroom waving a large stick at the aforementioned foreboding beast?

Having not responded in the .10 seconds that I allotted for his response, I grabbed the fly swatter and put a plastic bag over the end of it.

I stood over the creature and prayed that God would give me the aim and precision of Jael, and then I whacked the beegeebers out of it.

Dead.

About 5 seconds after I killed it, my mild-mannered husband engineer found his inner hunter and emerged into the bathroom, fully prepared to kill it for me.

Great.  Now I've emasculated him.

Not that the 1, 456, 702 things I've killed (without assistance) in the prior 43 years of my life have done anything to improve his sense of worth, now I've really blew it.

And it was probably my "injury" that caused my inner helpless woman to emerge, even though that helpless woman only lingered for 30 seconds.

So, what "injury" am I talking about anyway??

I thought you'd never ask.

For some odd reason, crazy things happen to me all the time.  The only difference is--I hardly ever get injured.

So, this is yesterday.  I am at "work"--the corporate work place where I teach pilates and do wire management.  Very convenient.  I arrive, teach a pilates class, grab a snack and then do some wires.

So, I was right in the middle of the grab a snack part of my job.  A lot of times I have food that I bring, so all I really want is some iced tea or something.  So, I went to the cafeteria and grabbed an iced tea in one of those glass jars. (think Lipton with the screw-on top)

So, with the iced tea glass jar in hand, I spun around to glance at the salad bar.  For some odd reason, the spinning action collided with the wet floor and I was sprawled out on the floor, with the iced tea bottle crashed into a million pieces with my bleeding hand stuck right down on top of it all.

I stood up and looked at my hand, spewing forth blood.

Now, there were not many people in the cafeteria at that time.  There were the cafeteria workers, eating their lunches and three male engineers talking at a table.  Technically, the cafeteria was closed, but they usually let me buy an iced tea after 1:00 because they know I work during the lunch hour.

So, the three guys all walk over and hover over me.  In what seemed like a very long response time, one of them said, "Could we get a napkin for her?"

There was iced tea, glass, and blood in a three foot radius all around me.  I was afraid to move and get my own napkin for fear of contaminating the entire building.

I wasn't sure if I was going to have to wear the cone of shame, clean up my own blood or just stand there and wait until someone got moving.  Sure enough, one of the cafeteria workers got me some paper towels, and the entire entourage of young guys walked me to the nurse's station.

And let me tell you this.  Blood does not happen in corporate America.  This was big news.  There was my boss's boss and all of the higher ups of building maintenance on site in full regalia ready to deal with my pathogens.

The hardest thing I had to do was answer this question, "Who are you working for?"

Well, I wouldn't call drinking iced tea working, would you? And did I need worker's comp for this?

Yes, I am not kidding you.  Do I need worker's comp for trying to drink an iced tea?  Let me ponder this question.

While the kind nurse was picking glass out of my hand and trying to discern if I was coherent enough to answer a basic question of "Who are you working for?".. I was thinking about how boring this would be if this all happened at home.  I mean... just this weekend, I was making dinner and talking to my mother on the phone at the same time.  When I placed the meat in the frying pan, I placed three of my fingers directly on the hot oil and pressed down, thinking I had the meat there, I guess.

I nonchalantly opened up the freezer and proceeded to soak and ice my fingers, while finishing up dinner, the conversation, and the side dishes.  No forms.  No drama.  No attention.  No comp time!!

I ought to protest!  But I won't.  I just won't.

So, without much fanfare,  I filled out the 8 million forms that are required when an injury happens.  And I went home and took a nap. I'll call that my comp time, eh?!  Don't worry.  I can still do pilates, wires, type and kill beasts.  That's right.  Jael is one tough cookie.  But she's having a hard time doing dishes.  just sayin'








6 comments:

Bernadette Veenstra said...

Hilarious! I mean, sorry about your injury. You just tell the story in a very funny way.=)

Organizing Mommy said...

No need to be sorry about the injury. I feel fine. I have a huge pain tolerance, and I'm functioning at a high level. Like I said. The only thing I'm taking a vacation from is dishes. I even gave a massage at prayer meeting. (LOL I'm the local masseuse, I think..)

Herding Grasshoppers said...

You can even make an injury funny! (When are you going to move out west and live in my neighborhood?!)

Good thing you have some help with the dishes!

Julie

Mrs. Parunak said...

OK, Bernadette's comment is the funniest ever. I'm going to say a big "me, too" to hers. "Hilarious! I mean, sorry about your injury." Pretty much sums it up. And you are an impressive hunter, Jael. I'm a disaster at killing anything. I have to trap bugs in a large pickle jar and take them outside.

Mrs. Santos said...

It's always fun to visit you!

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