CONTENT WARNING: Serious Accident/Injury (Car meets cherry picker)

I’m a construction worker — or rather, I was.

One day, I am working on the facade of a building in a cherry picker. For those of you who don’t know, a cherry picker is basically a platform you can stand on at the end of a very long hydraulic arm attached to a small self-propelled chassis.

I’m restoring a historic building downtown. It’s very finicky work, especially as we’re limited in the techniques we’re allowed to use. I used to be one of very few people willing to work on this style of historical building.

I start hearing something of a commotion, but I’m very focused on my work, and if I turn to look, it could ruin a whole day’s labor or more. I hear lots of sirens and loud honks. I can tell SOMETHING is wrong; I’m not an idiot. I start getting to a point where I can move away from my work as quickly as practically possible.

The noises get louder, and I turn to look. I have just enough time to see a blue Toyota Camry plow into the chassis of the cherry picker.

The whole thing jumps, and I’m thrown off of the platform. I don’t remember hitting the ground, but when I wake up, the cherry picker’s arm is lying across one of my legs, and a grizzled older paramedic is standing over me.

Paramedic: “You alive, man?”

Me: “I thought it would hurt more.”

Paramedic: “That’s not a good sign. Please don’t try to move. We’re going to put an IV in you, knock you out, get the picker arm off of you, and get you to the hospital.”

And they did. I lost the pinned leg despite the paramedic’s best efforts; it was too damaged.

The driver of the car survived. He was a drunk driver, and he was trying to evade pursuit by the police. He got seven years but got out on good behavior after four. He didn’t have insurance. 

Rehab took me years, and now I work as a trainer teaching other people how to do the restoration work I used to do.

I am looking for a particular product, so I approach an employee in one of the aisles.

Me: “Excuse me. I’m looking for [product], but I can’t seem to find it.”

Employee: “Oh, sure, we have those. Follow me to—”

The employee’s words trail off and his eyes go wide. Almost immediately, he runs past me, and I turn to see him throw himself to the ground to catch another customer — an older man, who has started to fall. The man lands on the employee, who immediately puts him into the recovery position.

Employee: “Call 911!”

Me: “Oh! Doing it!”

I get my phone out.

Me: “What do I tell them?”

Employee: “Tell them that a customer is having an epileptic seizure at [Store] on [Street address].”

I tell the emergency dispatcher the information, and they say they have an ambulance on the way. I stay with the employee while a manager appears and keeps the other customers away.

Me: “How do you know it’s a seizure?”

Employee: “He’s one of our regulars. Usually, we bring his stuff to him, but he came out today. Sadly, he chose a bad day.”

The manager has done the crowd control and comes over.

Manager: “Is that Mr. [Old Man]?”

Employee: “Yes, it is. I’m worried.”

Manager: “He’s had seizures before. He should be okay.”

Employee: “No, I’m worried about his insurance. He said he wouldn’t be covered if he had another seizure a while back. I’m worried what this might cost him.”

The manager looks at the regular, at his employee, and then at me.

Manager: *To me* “You saw him slip, right?”

Me: “Uh… I… what?”

The manager opens a bottle of water and starts pouring it on the floor.

Manager: “You saw this guy fall to the ground after slipping on water, right?”

Me: “I… uh… I guess I did.”

Manager: “Oh, no, I guess the store is liable. I’ll fill out the incident report. [Employee], make sure that the paramedics have the situation explained to them?”

Employee: “You got it.”

Manager: “Good. F*** this place.”

The manager heads to the front of the store to greet the ambulance.

Me: “What just happened?”

Employee: “The store has new investors, but they’re bleeding the company dry. None of us plans to stay around much longer, but I think my manager was planning on leaving end of the week. I think this might be his last hurrah.”

While I might not have been 100% comfortable with what had just happened, it turned out that I wasn’t required to answer any questions, so I left without worrying too much.

The store had a “closing down” sale a few months later, and I found that same employee that was so heroic on the day. He said that the insurance company found the store negligent based on the manager’s (now retired) testimony. The new investors had run the company into the ground (apparently intentionally), but they had managed to get one good deed out of the whole mess.

My friend called me to complain. Her husband was blaming her because their daughter had broken her leg while riding a motorbike owned by another friend’s kids.

Friend: “Just because I told [Daughter] she could ride the motorbike bike, he’s blaming me because she crashed.”

Me: “Had she ridden a motorbike before?”

Friend: “No, but she can ride a bicycle, and she is fourteen. [Other Friend]’s kids are eight and ten, and they can ride it. Being older, she should know how to ride it better than them.”

Me: “But haven’t they been riding mini bikes since they were three years old?”

Friend: *Snapping* “You, too? That’s what [Husband] said. I thought you would be sympathetic. She’s older than them!”

She hung up, and that was the last time she spoke to me.

I am helping an older male customer choose some clothing when he comes out with this comment.

Customer: “One of your boobs is a bit lopsided.”

Me: “Excuse me?!”

Customer: “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about! It’s easily fixed! I’m a plastic surgeon, y’see. I notice things like that.”

Me: “First of all, I have nothing that needs fixing. Secondly, I would appreciate it if you didn’t look at my boobs.”

Customer: “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it! But, here, take my card. I can give you a good deal.”

Me: “Even if I was looking for something like that, I work retail. What makes you think I could afford it?”

Customer: “Every woman deserves to look beautiful!”

Me: “You’re saying I’m not beautiful?”

Customer: “No, but you could look better!”

Me: “If you leave right now, I will feel better, and I’ll take that.”

Customer: “Seriously, take my card! We have very competitive payment plans—”

Me: “Get out! I’m no longer comfortable serving you!”

Customer: “So, you’ll consider it?”

Me: “Get out now, or you’ll be the one needing reconstructive surgery.”

Customer: “Fine! I was only trying to help!”

He finally left, and I took myself and my perfect boobs on a break.

Related:
Making A Complete Boob Of Himself, Part 3
Making A Complete Boob Of Himself, Part 2
Making A Complete Boob Of Himself

For whatever gripes I have about our company, they’re very understanding about sick days. We “officially” have five days per year, but if you’re on day five and need a sixth, as long as you’re not obviously going way over, doing it year after year, or otherwise abusing the generosity, you just get the extra.

I had to do so for the first time last week, as I had already taken three days off through the year and then ended up with a nasty upper respiratory infection — thankfully not THAT one. So, with a doctor’s note in hand, I took off Wednesday through Friday. Everyone wished me a speedy recovery, Human Resources said they’d take care of it, and my boss even offered to bring me over some homemade chicken soup. It was pretty tasty.

Fast forward to Monday. I’ve got another day of antibiotics to go, but I’m feeling as close to 100% as I do most Mondays, so I head in, even wearing a mask just to be safe. Everyone is giving me well wishes and hopes that I am feeling better… except for one coworker who decides to wander over after a bit.

Coworker: “Kind of selfish, huh?”

Me: “What?”

Coworker: “Six days.”

Me: “‘Six days’ what?”

Coworker: “You’ve had six sick days this year.”

Me: “Oh, yeah, it sucks being sick. HR cleared it, though.”

Coworker: “Yeah, but we didn’t. We really could have used you.”

Me: “Ha! No. No, you couldn’t have.”

Coworker: “Do you have any idea how busy we were?!”

Me: “Yeah! Not busy at all! Everyone said how slow it was, and I checked the numbers and confirmed it.”

Coworker: “But because you weren’t here, we all had to cover.”

Me: “You don’t even work in my department. What the heck did you have to cover?!”

She lists some tasks.

Me: “…I don’t do those things.”

Coworker: “No, [Coworker #2] does, but because you were lying around the house, she couldn’t, so I had to.”

Me: “Oh. Well, that’s different. Thanks for letting me know.”

Coworker: “So, you get why—”

Me: “I’ll make sure to let our department head know you’re having [Coworker #2] do your work for you. I was wondering why her numbers were down recently.”

Ms. Nose-In-My-Business glared at me and made a motion several times like she was going to start talking. No sounds escaped her, though, and I just kept a pleasant smile. Eventually, she stalked back to her desk, and I got back to mine, and I reminded my teammate to not take on tasks from other departments without instructions from our direct boss.