Much like motorcycle riding, using a mandolin produce slicer is just an accident waiting to happen. I'll spare you the photos of the actual injury. Because, well, there are no photos. I think it's more horrifying to explain the laceration in gory wordage. No, I wouldn't want you to do that to me, so I'll just gloss over the gross stuff, and focus on the funny moments from today.
All I was trying to do was cook bacon, section my grapefruit, cut four days worth of celery and carrot sticks, make 4 salads for my future lunches. Simultaneously. My new mandolin makes it so easy to cut my cukes, I just didn't know how far down it had gotten before the tip of my right thumb became part of the slicing fest. Yes, it came with a plastic guard. No, I wasn't using it. And neither would you. The cucumber was about a foot long when I started. I was hypnotized by the perfect green medallions floating effortlessly into each Tupperware. How could I have known I was down to a quarter inch when magic was happening in my kitchen?! As my dad pointed out later, it takes either a dummy or a kitchen musician to cut oneself with the mandolin. I, the latter, was obviously sucked int0 the beautiful rhythm of sliceyness.
Once I realized the not-so-minor nature of the cut, I walked briskly into the bedroom, told Marky, "I cut my thumb and I think it's bad and I don't think I can look at it," and he jumped out of bed. For a minute or two, we passed from delusion (all it needed was a bandaid), to delusion (maybe we can superglue it), to delusion (I can drive myself to the ER, where they'll just put superglue on it, and it will be a cinch to pull out my insurance card using only my index and forefinger), to the final realization that I was debilitated and Marky had to cancel his client to drive me to the damn ER.
Saturday morning, it turns out, is the perfect time for an emergency in Chicago. Nary a soul was in the ER, and I got right into triage. The first nurse simply dipped my finger in a mild cleanser. When I told the doctor I was the victim of my own recklessness with a mandolin, she raised her eyebrows and practically yelled, "I will always use a guard with a mandolin because of all of the crazy injuries I've seen in the ER from them!" My fault. I admit.
The nurse that gave me a tetanus shot asked what happened. Figuring he'd give me the same spiel, I just said, "Mandolin."
"Really!" He answered, stepping back.
"Oh, is that a sarcastic 'really'? Have you seen a bunch of people like me?"
"I have never seen a mandolin injury!" Fascinated, he pantomimed holding a ukelele and continued, "Now (looking at his hands), were you strumming, or picking when it happened?"
Laughing at this ridiculous idea, I explained to him that there is another type of mandolin, but lacerating one's thumb during a Medieval madrigal would have been far more interesting way to spend a Saturday morning.
The irrigation process should really be called the "irritating process." That's when I finally gave them my man card and asked for the lidocaine shots. Living through the pain of the shot immediately afforded me a fresh new card. What a gruesome experience. I'm not one of those people who hate needles in general. I do however hate large, slow moving, audible needles that shoot out burning substances repeatedly. Soon I was numb, and the doc came back to stitch me up. The lidocaine helped, but I could still feel a little pain when she sewed the flap back on. But I look at it the same way I look at a tattoo. It's a memory, and the pain is part of that memory. I will remember it when I think of carelessly slicing a cuke.
My thumb got a little hat that looks like something out of an L.L. Bean catalog. You know, the snow hat with the little braids coming down from the ear area? I could knit circles (literally) around that sterile white gauze. Imagine a variegated green thumb cozy! If only I had the dexterity to knit, I'd be on it in a heartbeat. Obviously I'm not the first to do this, and I won't be the last. My dad also suggested I market them to the OXO company as a companion piece to the mandolin. I mean, it's gonna happen. You might as well do it in style.
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