Once upon a time I worked in an office filled with 700 people. It was busting at the seams with temps and dalliances with the opposite sex. One guy came into work one day with nail marks all over his neck and back, then pointed to a woman about two tables away and said, “She’s an animal”. I looked at her and thought, “Yes, I can definitely believe this, she looks quite predatory with that shade of lipstick.”
My boss, who I got on well with, went away for a week on holiday. With her absent and basking in a tropical place no doubt awash with coconuts, I was so bored with the job, I decided to give a months notice where I worked. I’d been building up to doing this and my boss not being there highlighted to me that a different pasture surely beckoned.
The guy who sat opposite me said, “Don’t leave until you’ve bought the latest Fun Loving Criminals album and recorded it for me”. Lol it’s nice to be wanted for the audio files you can provide. What he said made me laugh in a way, even if it wasn’t the most flattering reason for wanting someone not to suddenly leave.
Overall I was happy with my decision until I got two weeks into working my notice. I’d been on a half hour run and even if I say it myself, I was quite magnificent and fleet of foot. When I got home I went into the back garden to talk to my dad. The washing was hanging on the line and I was sitting on a deckchair that was seemingly conveniently situated. I moved it forward so I could see him behind the towels rustling in the wind.
Not only a bad mistake, also a rookie one. The deckchair collapsed and one of my fingers was caught in the part where it folded. It took all of my bodyweight and collapsed. I looked at my finger after this horrendous turn of events, only to witness a shade of anaemic white. The blood had rushed out of it as it was nearly severed completely off, just hanging on by a bit of skin.
I felt sick.
There was a short delay. That’s when all the blood spurted out of it all over my bright white t-shirt. I looked like something out of a zombie film in a matter of 30 seconds. I shouted “FUCK” as loud as I could (I replicated this 3 times in succession). My mum heard this and apologised to the neighbours for my foul language, like I had just committed a cardinal sin. WTF? Somehow she didn’t notice I was covered in blood and trying to hold my finger on before it fell off? She thrust a teatowel over my hand and said, “It’s just a bee sting”.
“No. No… it’s not just a fucking bee sting”, were the words of eloquence that eminated from my lips.
My dad drove me to the hospital while I tried to keep my finger on. When I arrived, they did see me quite quickly. Fortunately for me they stitched my finger back on again, although the nurse doing it did say, “You don’t really need it anyway. If you were older, we probably wouldn’t have stitched this back on”.
FUCK! The way they say it – it’s like losing a finger is nothing. I’d become quite attached to my fingers and I had every intention of keeping them.
Indeed, I’m using the one that got severed to help me type this post. It comes in handy.
Of course, this screwed up being able to look for another job at the time and it turned out to be an ill-advised period to hand my notice in.
I went to my own leaving party with my finger in a splint of sorts. It was quite touching to see how many people turned up. One woman gave me her phone number in lipstick on a napkin, but I never used to realise that this was a form of flirting. I just thought she hadn’t brought a pen with her. I also got the usual jokes about now having to learn to do it all with the other hand. I’m too innocent to know what it is they were referring to 😉
I couldn’t read or do much with my hands so I listened to music. I bought a Suede album and a Madonna album that i knew off by heart. You don’t understand – I knew the words of every single, on both albums. My life just consisted of egg yolks and music during this time of healing.
I couldn’t lift weights or do anything except run, so at lunchtimes I used to go running around the park. I lost so much weight and I was living on eggs and beans on toast. Even though I was no longer at work, they still gave me a leaving card.
Here it is in all its splendour:
