05 April 2013

Why I can't have nice things

It is a well-known fact that I am a klutz. And even though I haven't gotten around to posting about my most recent adventures in surgery land, it is also a well-known fact that I have a fairly useless left arm. I'm sure you can guess where this is going.

Two days ago I decided to make myself a nice cup of tea at work. I merrily skipped over to the microkitchen and stretched as far as I could to get down a paper hot cup. I squeezed in a generous dollop of honey from the bear-shaped dispenser, plopped in the tea bag, and centered the cup under the instant hot beverage machine. Hot water, large, and start! Hmmm, there seems to be distinct lack of fullness in my cup. Hot water, small, and start! One perfectly filled cup of searingly hot liquid. I'll just pick this up and SPLURSH EVERYWHERE!

Somehow my left had escaped unscathed, while my innocent right hand was delicately charred. A combination of cold water and ice saved me from years of skin grafts, but nothing could hide the sticky, hot mess covering everything. I manned up, found a janitor, and apologized profusely.

Well, that was thoroughly embarrassing. Not willing to let such a challenge go unanswered, I managed to one up myself today.

The first Friday of every month is brunch day. Some people complain about not having two distinct giant buffets from which to get their meals, but I love having waffles for lunch.

I very carefully used my right hand to hold a cup underneath the batter dispenser so as not to risk a second failure of strength. With my emaciated left hand, I started to push on the nozzle. WOOOOSSSHHHH! THE ENTIRE NOZZLE FELL OFF!

The batter instantly overwhelmed my tiny, one serving cup.


Well, that got everybody's attention. A nearby coworker grabbed two large bowls and sprinted to the rescue. In the five seconds it took to fill both bowls, two members of the kitchen staff arrived on the scene with the proper tools to curtail the flood. But first they had to finish laughing at me.

One of them knew the secrets of the batter dispenser and removed the tank, but, alas, it was already empty.

Ten minutes later I was mostly debattered and order had been restored to the waffle station. I gingerly tempted fate by daring to try again. If ever I earned a waffle, that was it. And it was delicious.

That is how creating an epic mess became known as pulling a <me>.


photon said...

I'm very glad you survived without skin grafts or turning permanently into a waffle. And that the folks you work with, ranging from janitors to kitchen staff, are such good sports.

Glad I got to see you on Sunday. Keep up on the range of motion!

daMom said...

It is apparent that you inherited lack of coordination from your parent.

If the kitchen workers start to tease you again, remind them that I said they make awesome toasted pecans.