MoC, don’t read this post. If you’re not MoC and you’re squeamish, don’t read this post.

Yesterday morning I found a new health insurance ID card that Human Resources had left on my desT® I decided that I needed to destroy my old ID card. You know, in case someone tried to steal my identity or something. Who would want to be me?? Anyway, instead of putting it in a locked and secure shred bin, I decided I would cut it into pieces.

I cut a slice off the end but instead of going in the same direction and cutting another piece off the card, I thought I needed to cut the detached piece in half. So I turned my left hand toward the scissors instead of adjusting the scissors toward my hand – because that would have meant setting aside the bigger piece I was still holding. Because that would have been smart. (Not that anything about this was smart)

If you’ve followed the logistics you know that I have the big piece of card in my right hand along with the scissors, and the little piece in my left hand. I dropped the bigger piece onto the desk while still holding the scissors – because I didn’t want to readjust the smaller piece, which I was holding awkwardly between my index and middle fingers of my left hand, with the rest of the piece going toward my palm. Because that was the most awkward way I could grip it and I never do anything the easy way.

You know what’s coming, don’t you?

I didn’t.

I cut the smaller piece of very hard plastic … only it didn’t want to cut. So I really jammed down on the scissors – and cut a V into my finger. V for Victory. Victory over brains, I guess.

I happened to have paper towels in my drawer, so I grabbed one and clamped down on my finger (with my hand, not the scissors. God, I’m not that dumb. Am I?) I asked one of the team leaders in the next row if there were any band-aids around. Then I pulled the paper towel away and more blood gushed. Great. I improvised a paper towel and rubber band bandage until I could get to the doctor’s office.

I thought Cartman was going to pee her pants with the sheer joy of catching me doing something stupid. She cackled all day. She even went so far as to tell me I could never call her dumb again.

Yes I can, Cartman. Yes I can.

But I should probably wait until the stitches are out before I mock her again.

This is what death-defying stupidity (in an office setting) looks like: