Pirate Appears To Have Died From Scalp Lacerations
Wednesday, Jul. 09, 2003
Owee! My head!
Yes, I�ve met my quota for smashing my head this month. This time it was a job related thing. Last month, it was down in Mexico.
Every day around four, the older ladies would sweep the courtyard. We were staying in the house next door, actually. And at the house we were staying at, the older man swept in the morning. But in Mexico City, the amount of dust that falls from the sky every day is amazing. The day I hurt my head in Mexico, I was sweeping.
That day, it was the odd lady who wore the odd clothes who was sweeping. No one else was helping her, and it�s a big courtyard, so I got the broom that we used in peloqueria, made sure that it was OK to use outside, and started sweeping the side closest to the house.
I wanted to say the North side, as I tend to identify that kind of thing rather than saying on the left or right, but the whole time we were down in Mexico, I had no idea which direction was which. Granted, the buildings are all less than three stories tall, but they are attached to each other and they�re all at least two. I�m sure I could look at some pictures I took and try to figure out which direction was which, but there really wasn�t a whole lot of direct lighting down there (in the courtyard).
There were several 5-gallonish buckets which we would put the dust into. They were near a tree which grows very similar to a peach tree. Heck, it could have been a peach tree. Well, when I was putting dust in a bucket at one point, I turned and smacked my head into the tree on a little knot from cutting off a branch. It scraped my head pretty well. I think abraded is the word.
There was no flowing blood, but there was red. My mutant healing factor healed it in three days. (Which kind of freaked me out, really.)
Today, I was setting up my expensive water sampler at a local industry which formulates and manufactures different types of aluminum foil. But this isn�t for wrapping food, it�s for putting on NASA stuff. Well, I get there and Chuck comes out of the building after I have to wait in the van. Once he�s out, I unlock the gate.
See, when I�m being Mr. Environmental Inspector (which is actually a grade lower than me) I�m not allowed to enter the facility without an escort. But I�ve got keys to get in this industry, because they have some old grandfathered sweetheart deal where I have to read their wastewater meter for their monthly billing. There are only about eight industries who have that, so it only takes me about 2 hrs every month.
After I set up my sampler, as Chuck and I chit chat about:
1. �Man, Chuck, with how much you work out and you�re smoking? Why not have a candy bar too?�
2. �So, how much did that sampler cost, Postwood?�
3. �It�s getting hot early today.�
4. �Once you guys went out of business, every single business which was on the high strength waste billing has gone out of business.�
5. �Ooh, yeah. You did take a pretty big chunk out of your head.�
Wait, that last one was after I smashed my head.
So, I set up the sampler and check the box on the form saying they have a flow meter and it�s functioning. I duck into the sampling shed and read the number off the flow meter, and obviously didn�t lower my head low enough to get out the door, and thus plowed my head into the edge of a rusty piece of sheet steel.
I made a �mMmmnnn�� sound as I tried not to cry out.
Now that I�ve looked at it, it�s a pretty good laceration. No blood, but it�s red and it�s wet with clear fluid trying to heal it over.
I had to fill out a booboo form for the safety man here, Dano.
Hopefully this will heal nicely and quickly. I don�t think it�ll do either, frankly. I just hope that hair still kind of grows once the scar tissue has finished.
Man, scars on arms and legs are cool, or torso, but head scars are sucky. Grr.
I dunno, maybe something right under my eye would be cool.
(Actually, I do have a facial scar, but it�s from chicken pox and I think it�s nearly gone now.)