I don’t lose things, I don’t break things and I don’t injure myself. In fact, one of my more developed skills in life is anticipating consequences.
I made an uncharacteristic error of judgement in the gym this morning. After a sardine-can journey on the tube, I headed for the gym before work to relieve tension with dumbells, and to counterbalance the depressing impact of the torrential rain with a restorative spell of dry heat of the sauna.
My gym has a SUITMATE machine in the changing rooms. It works like this. You put your wet swimming shorts in the machine, hold down the lid, and a cylindrical drum rotates fast enough to make the whole unit vibrate and hum. When you release the lid, the machine stops, and you retrieve your newly dried swimwear.
At least, that’s the theory. This morning, when I released the lid, it didn’t stop spinning. I waited for two minutes before attempting to turn it off at the socket. Except the socket was out of reach, hidden behind screwed-in plastic unit. And I had wet hands.
Then the idea struck me! Wait a minute! It’s only cloth! If I dip my hand in there quickly, I can grab my shorts, and whip them outta there in a microsecond! Yeah, that’s a good idea, I’ll do that.
A quarter of a second later, it looked like a nailbomb had gone off in an abattoir. Blood everywhere.
After doing a tourniquet towel-wrap, getting dressed and putting my contact lenses in with one hand, I inspected the damage. It was superficial. I no longer have skin on two of my knuckles, but that’s about it. In a parallel universe very near here, the bones in my wrist are now dust. I would like to pay tribute to dumb luck, and acknowledge that I’ve learnt an important lesson. Oh, and fuck you, suitmate!