The Man Owner waited on me. Good thing I saw his car out front. The regular clerks can only pay out $300 or less. And here was a new clerk getting ready to start her shift, getting last minute instructions from the Woman Owner, like a second-string quarterback getting advice from the head coach before running onto the field.
The Man Owner was behind his plexiglas partitions, counting out my money. He's a friendly fellow. I reached into the opening and pulled out my stack of bills. He then rang up my soda and another scratcher. A customer had entered, and was standing behind me. Closer than 6 FEET! Anyhoo... I left the store and started across the parking lot to T-Hoe.
As I looked down on the little asphalt ramp that is in front of the door (looking a bit like it had been poured by Farmer H and his leftover-blacktop-scoring buddy, Buddy)... I noticed blood dripping off my arm!
WHAT IN THE NOT-HEAVEN???
How did I injure myself in the Gas Station Chicken Store? I didn't get jabbed by anything sharp at the soda fountain. The hole for the 44 oz cups was empty, so I'd helped myself to one sticking out of an already ripped open plastic sleeve of 44s in a box at the end of the counter. Us regulars can do that, you know.
I hadn't touched anything at the counter. Only shoved my tickets through the slot, and took my money back. There was nothing else to gore me in there.
Sweet Gummi Mary! Now my short sleeve had dipped itself into the free-flowing river of blood on my forearm. AND I had a spot on the bottom of my shirt pocket.
THAT'S IT!
A toothpick in my pocket had poked its pointy end out, and stabbed my arm skin! When I got to T-Hoe, I dabbed at it to staunch the flow. There were TWO wounds. Like one good stabbing deserved another. I dabbed and dabbed. Got a new Puffs With Lotion, and dabbed some more. Applied pressure. I really need to carry some bandaids in the T-Hoe. There's never one when I need it. I'd just bought some at Save A Lot on Monday. But they were all in the Mansion.
Once safe in my lit basement lair, I took a picture of the now-scabbing entry wound.
Here's a bit of a closeup...
I'm sure glad I don't carry fish hooks in my pocket! And I might want to re-think the two aspirins a day I'm taking in an effort to take a break from the ibuprofen.
3 comments:
Two aspirins a day? I'm surprised your wound didn't become a waterfall, your blood would be so thin. And you have freckles! I don't think I've seen anyone with freckles in decades. Back when I was in primary school there was usually at least one freckled kid per class, now they're rare as friendly sharks. Buy an extra box of bandaids and keep them in the car.
Are you sure they're from the toothpick? Or, could they be the result of one of Farmer H's plots to kill you? Perhaps this was a trial run...
River,
Yes, I need to take a break from one aspirin pretty soon. I DO have that new box of bandaids, and lamented again today that they were on the kitchen counter instead of in T-Hoe. The scab dissolved during my shower, and my arm was oozing a little. Good thing I carry Puffs in T-Hoe. I sopped up that blood quickly this time.
Of course I have freckles! My mom had red hair, and also my sister the ex-mayor's wife has red hair, and her son as well. Freckles, the companion of red hair, run in our family. I got the freckles, but my dad's dark hair. My boys do not have freckles, they have Farmer H's tannable skin.
***
Sioux,
I'm sure they're from the toothpick. I am NOT so sure that Farmer H didn't take the toothpicks out of my town shirt pockets, and sharpen their plastic ends with his pocketknife... I never should have mentioned, within his hard-of-hearing, that I had started taking a second aspirin!
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