In which my head becomes friendly with a Crowbar

Well, well. Not everyday you get to play the role of a murder victim, complete with gushing head wound and a bloody glove (actually two). I suspect Colonel Sanders, with the Crowbar, in the Parlor... oh wait, that's a different game. The game I got to play was called, "what-happens-when-brainless-workman-leaves-a-crowbar-on-top-of-a-ladder-outside-the-house". Perhaps better known as "unsuspecting Jay gets beaned in the head with a crowbar, while moving said ladder off of children's play-area".

Ahh, the perils of having a conscience. I could quite probably be well on my way to being a millionaire, simply by invoking the pain-and-suffering routine used so effectively by that lady at McDonalds who spilled coffee on herself.

Except in this case, I had no reason to expect that by moving a ladder left propped against the kid's wooden boat, I would dislodge a sharp metal crowbar conveniently hidden lying flat on the top step of the stepladder. That McDonald's lady at least should have had an inkling that dumping hot coffee in one's lap might risk less-than-satisfying results. In any case, by moving the ladder, I unexpectedly was greeted by the sharp end of the crowbar gashing a nice hole in my temple, just above the hairline, eliciting a loud metal DING-ING-ING-ING, prior to a much louder howl of "OWWWWWWW!" as I realized the ladder had attacked me.

What does one do, standing there after a ladder drops a crowbar on your head? Well, apparently I just stood there for a second, trying to figure out what had just happened. Given the loud noise made by impacting against my skull, I don't think I realized right away that I had suffered anything worse than the blunt impact one usually gets when a metal tool is dropped on their head.

I guess it was after my gloved hands instinctively went up to protect my poor head (too late) that the full benefit of a gaping head wound became apparent. Apparently my head had been transformed into a fountain, as blood soaked through the gloves, and began soaking my hair and face, and began accenting my nice blue shirt with polka-dots.Which is probably what propelled me to run into the house, yelling for the wife to wake up from her nap and provide assistance. I've been known to pass out like a sissy from getting a shot at the doctor, which is why I was so desparate to get to the wife - there was a good bit more blood involved and I wasn't sure whether I'd pass out or not. Fortunately I didn't go all weak-kneed and such, and simply passed the time in the bathroom soaking through one towel, while my wonderful wife fashioned an icepack using the old dishtowel-and-frozen-vegetables trick.

Quite honestly, what I was thinking about upstairs in the bathroom was that my skull must be made of metal to have made such a nice "DING-ING-ING-ING" sound, and wondering if I could attach magnets to my metal skull. I was also curiously developing a resentment towards the guilty crowbar, and trying to devise ways to punish it accordingly. Apparently I had already made my revenge against the ladder (I discovered later that I had hurled the ladder across the lawn after it dropped the crowbar on me) I was also feeling sad that the experience hadn't been captured on film, as it would have gone great accompanied with a Tom 'n Jerry soundtrack.

To cut the story short, the highlight of the trip to the Patient First office was having the doctor stick a needle INTO MY HEAD, by which he adminstered the numbing agent which allowed him to then stitch me up. Call me crazy, but I wasn't really enjoying the whole stick-another-sharp-object-into-my-head deal, as I'd had my fill of that already, thankyou very much. I am now sporting two blue stitches, and a bald spot in my bangs, where the doctor was kind enough to sew me up.

After getting home, I called the foreman of the construction company, and left a message on his cellphone informing him that I really hadn't appreciated the crowbar falling on my head, and could his workman kindly put sharp tools away, especially those being used on objects next to the kids PLAY-AREA. Geez, I guess it could have been worse, Zach or Ryan getting clocked in the head with a crowbar. And you know, I'd probably not have as much of a problem with wanting to sue their lousy pants off if that had happened. But as it is, I don't quite feel entitled to millions in damages. Hey, if they want to donate the rest of the house project free, they can knock themselves out. I could certainly use a couple grand. But seriously, in life, as always, stupid stuff happens. People have been getting bonked on the head for hundreds of years, and the only thing suing has done is glamorized careers of sleaze-bag lawyers, and greedy opportunists who would gladly trip on a neighbors sidewalk and pull their hamstring, if they thought it could reap a payoff.

Ok, so sometimes people do have grounds to sue. And maybe I do too. But really now, aren't I pretty good at hurting myself anyway, without someone else's negligence playing a part? Maybe I should sue the tree I fell out of 4 times as a kid. And sue that kid who tripped me on the playground in 6th grade. Nope - I think I'll just let it ride, and not worry so hard about it. Although, if I do get the urge, I may go out and take a sledge hammer to that crowbar. Just to show it some love.

So, that's my adventure for the day. Three cheers for my wife, who managed to staunch the fountain of blood that was my head, as well as round up three kids for a trip to the doctor - I love you, dear! Hope I can have a little less drama for the rest of the week. Happy (early) 4th of July, all!