Son of a whore dog fucker

Yeah, so I totally hammered the fuck out of my finger this afternoon. It's my right ring finger ... and it hurts like a motherfucker. It was a pretty good day up to then, even though we were short staffed and didn't get the numbers (or anywhere close to the numbers), but a good day nonetheless. Then around quarter past 3:00 we changed from alloy to Targets. I was slide-fitting and bolt-fitting both, and while the alloy slides fit on the guns with little incident, the Target slides were a bitch and would not easily slide onto the gas pipe. So I summoned my chi and busted out the slide-fu, which is to say: I pounded on it with a hammer in just the right spots. But hammering it didn't help, so I hit it in another secret spot. That didn't work either. So I started to get pissed.

Let me digress for a minute and explain one of my peculiarities. I can do a lot of things better when I'm pissed off. Not everything, but a lot of things. I can hit a baseball better. I can play tennis better. And so forth. I mention this to set up the fact that I was a little hacked off at the slide and took a really hard swing down on it ... and hit my finger. I was holding onto the slide to steady it, and I hit right on top of my fingernail, so that caused some really intense throbbing pain. But that wasn't the worst part of it.

The hammer pushed my finger down into one of the holes onto the slide, and caused a deep semi-circular gash to erupt on my finger. And calling it an eruption was not an exaggeration. It bled like a motherfucker. I'm a bleeder anyway. Cut me and I'll bleed all over the place, and it doesn't have to be a deep cut even. Scratch me and I'll make a bloody mess. Oh, and it was bloody and it was a mess. I dropped the gun on the bench and went back to my bench and wrapped the finger in a towel. I didn't even feel the cut because it was throbbing so fucking much. Jim noticed me standing there and was like "What's up?", and I was like "I'll be with you in a minute." Mike (our boss) was also on the line and asked what was going on, so I answered: "I just slammed the fuck out of my finger."

There was some discussion over whether or not I was going to go visit the nurse. I didn't realize it was such a gash at first, and my intention was to nut up and wait for it to stop bleeding, wrap it up, and continue on. But it didn't want to stop. So Mike asked if I was going to go to the nurse, and I said I wasn't sure. And he said, "If you don't go to the nurse, then you *never* told me about it." In other words, either go to the nurse or you're on your own. "Do you want me to go to the nurse?" By this point I'd pretty much made up my mind to go anyway. He paused and said yes. So I did.

First I stopped to rinse it off. By the time I got to the sink my whole hand was a gory mess. Other people around were like HOLY SHIT. Don't worry, it looks worse than it is. I rinsed it, but man it stung like holy hell when the water touched it. I went down to the nurse and told him I had a boo-boo, so he had me rinse it again and bandaged it up. He said I probably didn't need stitches, even though I was still gushing like an oil rig that had just struck black gold, and I even dripped blood on his floor. I'm not sure if he's right or not.

I changed the bandage about an hour ago. I'd no sooner pulled the band-aids off than I was bleeding all over myself again. Really? Still? So I watched some TV while applying pressure to a paper towel over it. After that, while there wasn't a huge stain on the paper towel ... as soon as I took the pressure off it started bleeding again. Fucking A. So I've wrapped it up in band-aids again.

Depending what it looks like tomorrow, I may go see a real doctor about it (even though I still don't think it's all that bad).

And to sum it up, it was all my own stupid careless fault.

Nice job, asshole.