Once upon at time, a dashing young cubicle jockey had to use the restroom at work. He went and discovered, much to his chagrin, that the restroom on his floor was temporarily closed for cleaning. Undaunted, he went upstairs to use the bathroom on that floor.
Upon arrival, he discovered that the latch to the stall door he was attempting to lock was installed incorrectly; the piece on the door didn't line up with the piece on the frame. Feeling the need for privacy, he he able to force the two pieces into proper alignment and locked the door. When his need was fulfilled and his business completed, he again struggled to open the latch. He finally succeeded, but only after pinching the skin at the tip of this right thumb between the pieces of the latch. In slight discomfort, he paid it no mind and returned to his floor.
During his return journey, he had opportunity to wave to one of the many cute girls that work around him. After the wave, with a smile on his face, he felt a sticky sensation on the same right hand that had been so integral to the opening of the dastardly latch. Examining his hand, what he saw was the second worst thing a man can see on his hand after dropping a deuce in the bathroom: blood. Apparently, when he pinched his thumb in the latch, he had done so to such a degree that it had caused a deep cut in the skin, which was now bleeding.
And not just on the hand. He immediately checked and found that blood had streaked on his shirt and pants during the walk downstairs. "Goodness," he said. "I'm bleeding all over myself. If only I had worn darker, less valuable clothing on casual Fridays like everyone else. These Dockers might be ruined!"
He attempted to rinse the blood out with cool water, but to no avail. He knew that his only chance to save the shirt and pants was to rinse them with hydrogen peroxide. But where to find such a thing at the office? Ah ha! The occupational health center!
Somewhat similar in nature to a school nurse, the health center held basic medical supplies for small emergencies. Although the cut was really rather minor, the dashing cubicle jockey felt more vanity for his pants than pride in his toughness. He made his way to the health center.
Arriving at the health center, he politely asked the attending nurse or temp or whomever she was for a bandage and some hydrogen peroxide. She replied, "You don't use peroxide on a cut like that."
"It's not for the cut. It's for this," and he gestured to his pants.
"Oh." She led him to the back.
During the short trip to the back, he explained how he had obtained the injury. She immediately asked, "Do you want a tetanus shot?"
Being practical, he replied, "Is it going to cost me anything?" He didn't particularly want a shot, but hey, if it was free, why not?
She indicated that she would have to refer him to a health clinic down the road to administer the shot. Thinking about it, he decided that pinching his thumb between two pieces of chromed metal probably didn't merit actually driving somewhere to get a shot. He politely refused, explaining, "It's not that serious. I wouldn't have come down here if I hadn't needed your peroxide."
While she cleaned and dressed the wound, she continued on, asking him if he wanted to file a work-related injury report. Then she again recommended getting the tetanus shot. Once again he politely refused. His thumb cleaned and bandaged, and his shirt and pants rescued by the grace of a God who invented hydrogen peroxide, he thanked the woman/nurse/temp and returned to his desk to muddle the way through the rest of his day.
Upon arriving at home for the weekend, he chose to write an entry about the situation in his blog rather than talking about the Band of Horses CD that he hadn't gathered his thoughts on yet. He called it a "metaphor", even though there was nothing slightly metaphoric about it. He just hoped people would think it sounded cool.
The end.
