Just this weekend, we watched an episode of No Reservations in which Anthony Bourdain claims the worst pain of cutting yourself while cooking is knowing that you’re an idiot. So what do I do tonight? Slice my finger open.
I have never been very adept around cutlery. The Dial-A-Nurse Incident is probably the most amusing of my encounters with the sharp end of a knife. In college, the dorm cafeterias would sometimes become “specialty restaurants.” Every two weeks, the cafeteria in my dorm would call itself Le Creperie and serve crepes and flambe. It was pretty exciting stuff.
The spread also included a side table with cheese and bread. I went to go cut myself a hunk of bread and somehow managed to just about slice off the tip of my finger. I didn’t want to miss my crepes, so I wrapped a tissue around my finger and carried on with dinner. When, over an hour later, it was still bleeding, I began to grow concerned. The student health center was closed for the evening, and so we called Dial-A-Nurse, the hotline designed to assist students with non-emergencies when the health center is closed.
Dial-A-Nurse turned out to be MacGyver. She guided one of my friends through binding my finger together with, I kid you not, Scotch tape, the cotton part of a Q-Tip, and a Post-It note. Much to my amazement, it worked!
Thankfully, tonight’s wound was much less dramatic and only required a simple Band-Aid.