Tuesday, June 29, 2004
By request |2:26 PM| Sinclair mentioned the nacho cheese in the eyes incident. For clarification, I was not struck in the eyes, but it did cover a large portion of my face. As far as I can tell, I haven't mentioned this incident in the past.
While I was working at the movie theater, I would often be the one responsible for cleaning dishes, among these were the nacho cheese bowls. These sons of bitches were kept at well over 150 degrees to keep the nacho cheese molten, and so posed a certain safety hazard when it was time to wash out the thick crust of burned cheese from the bowel itself. Since our oven mitts kept vanishing, the only way to transport the bowels was by wrapping your hands in paper towels, which would only provide protection for a few seconds. Normally the bowl was emptied of extra nacho cheese, but in this incident it was about half full. No problem, I thought, just as long as I could get the nacho cheese to the sink before I started burning. With mittens of paper towels, I began a race against the devil to the glorious sink.
Reaching the sink I tossed the container into the sink, at which point the cheese sloshed around in the bowl, created a large bubble that popped, hurling nacho cheese into the air....directly onto to my face, arm, and torso.
There's a point of pain at which your body just stops taking normal commands, and screaming really wasn't an issue. I was frozen in a mid defensive gesture, arms extended, eyes wide in shock, legs barely moving. I had lost the trust of my body. I walked very slowly towards the concession stand, and made a quiet whimpering noise through a mouth that would not otherwise work.
Luckily, a friend of mine was able to get me paper towels and get the goddamn cheese off of me.
As an addendum to the previous posts:
I have also had a staple driven through my thumb, had the price tag gun fire its razor tip into my hand (which isn't as bad as it sounds) and at one point a bad fishing cast by a friend buried a fishhook underneath my fingernail. "No, don't worry, I can handle this. Go get the guy with the pliars."
Next, I'll describe the windex making machine.
By request |2:26 PM| Sinclair mentioned the nacho cheese in the eyes incident. For clarification, I was not struck in the eyes, but it did cover a large portion of my face. As far as I can tell, I haven't mentioned this incident in the past.
While I was working at the movie theater, I would often be the one responsible for cleaning dishes, among these were the nacho cheese bowls. These sons of bitches were kept at well over 150 degrees to keep the nacho cheese molten, and so posed a certain safety hazard when it was time to wash out the thick crust of burned cheese from the bowel itself. Since our oven mitts kept vanishing, the only way to transport the bowels was by wrapping your hands in paper towels, which would only provide protection for a few seconds. Normally the bowl was emptied of extra nacho cheese, but in this incident it was about half full. No problem, I thought, just as long as I could get the nacho cheese to the sink before I started burning. With mittens of paper towels, I began a race against the devil to the glorious sink.
Reaching the sink I tossed the container into the sink, at which point the cheese sloshed around in the bowl, created a large bubble that popped, hurling nacho cheese into the air....directly onto to my face, arm, and torso.
There's a point of pain at which your body just stops taking normal commands, and screaming really wasn't an issue. I was frozen in a mid defensive gesture, arms extended, eyes wide in shock, legs barely moving. I had lost the trust of my body. I walked very slowly towards the concession stand, and made a quiet whimpering noise through a mouth that would not otherwise work.
Luckily, a friend of mine was able to get me paper towels and get the goddamn cheese off of me.
As an addendum to the previous posts:
I have also had a staple driven through my thumb, had the price tag gun fire its razor tip into my hand (which isn't as bad as it sounds) and at one point a bad fishing cast by a friend buried a fishhook underneath my fingernail. "No, don't worry, I can handle this. Go get the guy with the pliars."
Next, I'll describe the windex making machine.
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