constance: (*lulls you into false sense of security*)
[personal profile] constance
A conversation:

R: Hey, Cammy, C was over at my house this weekend and he had a little accident, and when we went to the emergency room, he misunderstood me and claimed it as Workers Comp when it's going to be taken care of by my homeowner's insurance. I wanted to bring you a copy of the paperwork in case anyone had any questions or problems sorting things out.

Me: Okay, I'll hang on to it. How's C? Is he all right?

R: Yeah, he should be fine -- we got him to the hospital and they took care of him pretty fast.

C: What happened, if you don't mind my asking?

R: Well, I sort of nicked him with my chainsaw.

Me: WHAT?!

R: We were cutting down a tree and the tree was falling toward him and I grabbed him to get him out of the way...

Me: OH MY GOD. You cut him with a chainsaw??

R: It was an accident. He's going to be okay.

Me: OH MY GOD.

Date: 2007-10-02 07:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] laurelwood.livejournal.com
"...I sort of nicked him with my chainsaw."

Just the imagery there is enough to involuntarily draw all my limbs inward. Because nicking when you do it with a shaving razor is bad enough. Nicking with a CHAINSAW? Aieeeeeeee!

How timely this is; it sort of underscores what you said about not being the sort of person who should own/operate a nail gun. I was going to add "electric drill" to that list, having wisely opted to hand-screw (that doesn't sound very ladylike) a shelf together rather than risk bolting my hand to a piece of pressboard, and now I think "chainsaw" should be right in there, too.

Date: 2007-10-02 08:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tofty.livejournal.com
Hahahahahaha! I said this more or less exactly just a little while ago to one of my coworkers. Chainsaw is much higher on the list of things I must never touch than nailgun is, I think.

I can use a drill, and have used one, but I do still use a regular old screwdriver whenever I can. I adore power tools, but there's the clumsiness to consider.

I just remembered that in my first year of architecture school, we toured the wood/machine shop where we'd sometimes be required to work on projects, and of course the shop guy told us lots of stories to make us nice and petrified of playing around with the equipment. Some of those stories I can still recall vividly, and I'm guessing my horror also has something to do with them. :D

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