Tuesday, April 1, 2008

I have gone _______ days without an accident or injury

Sunday we drove home from Miami. It was one of those drives where I counted every single mile. When we stopped for gas the credit card machine wasn’t working so everyone had to go inside, stand in line and talk to an actual person to pay for gas

Waiting for my credit card to go through, I noticed a sign on the wall. This station has gone 237 days without an accident or injury. I’ve seen these signs before. Every time I see them I think, well, what WAS the accident or injury 237 days ago? I feel I’m owed some explanation. Did a gas pump explode? Did someone get maimed in the car wash? Or did Jed just burn his bottom lip on the coffee pot again?

On second thought, maybe we’re all better off not knowing when the last accident occurred. Let me just live in my happy little universe. Because what if whatever law that’s forcing places to put these signs up spread to other places? I can’t imagine getting on a roller coaster after seeing a “This coaster has gone 237 days without death or dismemberment” sign. Not cool.

And what if the signs were extended to individual citizens? We’d all have to walk around in sandwich boards, “I have gone ___ ___ ___ days without accident or injury. (Mine would rarely be in the double digits).

Today’s number would be 7. It has been seven days since I closed the washing machine on my finger. Oh but wait, Wednesday I slammed my head into the bathroom door jamb while getting ready for bed, so that would make me a 4. Maybe less, depending on what counts as an injury or accident…since on Saturday night I accidently spilled half a glass of rum in my cleavage, so that would put the number down to 1.5 except that… earlier today, while making dinner, I happened to look at the oven window to see flashes of light, and opened the oven door to find tiny grease sizzles jumping up from the tilapia filet to the broiler coils and forming BALLS OF FIRE.

Okay, my number is 2 hours. I have gone 2 hours without an accident or injury. Only then, mere minutes ago, as I was typing the last paragraph, I grabbed my mug of tea but didn’t realize the label and string of the tea bag were tangled in the wrought iron lamp that sits on the end table, so it pulled out and splashed boiling hot water on my hand and the pain shocked me so I dropped the mug and spilled the hot tea onto my cell phone. (I wonder if the contract covers hot beverage related damage?) So that brings me to 5 minutes. I have gone 5 minutes without accident or injury.

Luckily, there is no form to fill out every time an “incident” occurs. If there were, Danny would have an awful lot of paper work on his hands, and he’d probably lose it or crumple it or chew it and then we’d have to fill out another form and Danny would ask why don’t I just fill out the online version of the form next time.

I could just be honest with myself and know that between tripping, stubbing my toe, spilling things, dropping important items in unreachable places, putting my foot in my mouth (figuratively), setting things on fire and the random pangs and twitches that occur throughout my body for no apparent reason, I should just set my number to ZERO and leave it at that.

Print ‘er up….I have gone ZERO days without an accident or injury.


James Ford said...

I have a sign like that I keep posted next to my bed. It's absolved me from many an irresponsible law suit.

There is a scene in the vasty underrated Albert Brooks film DEFENDING YOUR LIFE where his defense in Heaven (actually Judgement City in the movie but that requires much more explaination) plays a montage of all the stupid things he's done throughout his life. Hys-f'n-sterical.

Mine would include setting a computer on fire, burning my hand with an oven mitt with a hole in it, fixing a drainage pipe in my driveway that popped my tire and then testing it and popping my tire again, rubbing IcyHot in my eye, launching a fireball from my barbeque into my roof overhang, sleeping in a room breached by bees who build a nest in the wall (because I was too lazy and tired to plug the hole... and they can smell fear and I wasn't scared) and poisoning myself by eating microwaved non-microwavable chicken pot pie that been sitting on the counter for four hours.


My Apple Pie Is The S*** said...

Hey Chica, I wish I could come up with something witty in reply to your side-splitting post however, I'm actually here to report that I'm having trouble emailing you. Please advise as to a better method of contact, soup cans perhaps? I guess I could just use the phone but then again I'm hungry and I'm afraid at this particular moment in time pork goodness takes priority over our friendship. Please forgive me.

Oh, and the blog account you forced me to create to communicate with you here was inspired by a moderately witty email I had written you about what I've been up to but have sadly been unable to send due to delivery failure.

This is Aimee by the way. Not sure if you have any other friends out there who have been taken under Martha Stewarts spell, so I figured I'd clarify. Although, the "Hey Chica" was hopefully a clue.