just a slight amputation

(old email from 7.28.04)

I just want you all to know I just nearly lost my finger in an unfortunate cleaning incident.

See, the chair in my office had a hydraulic problem. I would sit and be working and all of a sudden the hydraulics would let go, and I'd drop 3 or 4 inches and my knee would knock me in the jaw. After a few days of this funny but annoying behavior, I decided to go cube shopping to see what else I could find.

So I go to no-longer-Chester's cube and steal his chair. As I wheel it into my cube in the fashion of pushing a grocery cart whose one squeaky wheel refuses to rotate in the same manner as its brethren because a mangled piece of last week's romaine lettuce is wedged in, I notice that the "new" chair, like the romaine lettuce, is a bit, well, grungy. So I pull out my handy dandy plastic container of Clorox Disinfecting Wipes. You know, the ones that look rather like the moist towellettes you use on a baby's smelly ass? But ever since I bought these DisinfectingWipes, they refuse to properly exit the sphincter-like hole in the lid. Although the wipes are perforated, they do not tear properly, and constantly I either get a microscopic shred of a wipe, or I pull half the roll out at once. Usually I pop the lid off and pull them back through from the other side, but today....oh today....

After cleaning what appeared to be coffee grime and fingernail clippings (EW) off the arm of no-longer-Chester's chair, I turn to the wipes and decide to stick my index finger into the sphincter-like whole in the lid to jam the excess wipes back IN to the container. However, I quickly realized that this was a Very Bad Idea. The pointed and sharp plastic teeth immediately started digging into my flesh, and I instantly realized that this was designed for one-way passage only. The pain intensified and I bit my lip, thinking as quickly as possible how to proceed. Feeling like a cartoon character who had a giant lobster claw clamped onto my poor, defenseless finger tip, I contemplated grabbing the scissors left-handed to cut myself free, or giving one giant tug that would inevitably rip of chunks of flesh and leave me known hereforward as "the girl with 9 fingers who sits near Ivette." I even wondered how far the nearest hospital was so I could have the lid surgically removed, or have my finger re-attached. Or both. As my fingertip reddened with pressure and panic began to set in, I somehow used my clamped hand to get the lid off the container. Things did not look good.

So I studied the design of the plastic, trying earnestly not to have a Terrett's style cursing session in the middle of the silent office. I tried to pull my finger out but DAMN did it hurt! I tried using my other hand to lift at least one of the teeth away from my finger but there was no give whatsoever. So eventually I settled for lubing it up with, of all things, a soapy pre-moistened Disinfecting Wipe, and winced in agony as I pulled my pulsating finger free from the jagged teeth. It's now deformed, quite sore, and a few layers of skin are indeed missing. But I managed to do it without bloodshed, cursing, or asking for assistance. The feeling is starting to come back now too.

I tell ya, no-longer-Chester's chair better be worth it.