I Will CUT YOU!

The paper cut pandemic continues.

Just call me Typhoid Nancy – I appear to be a very dangerous carrier of the disease.

I was in my boss’s office yesterday afternoon when he asked me for a document he wanted to review. I told him it was on his desk, and we both proceeded to rifle though the papers in front of him. We saw it about the same time. I got there first, and snapped it up.

“Ow!”

That was the sound my boss made as the papers slipped through his fingers and sliced his pinky.

I had two thoughts when this happened:
“Oh. My. God. I just hurt my boss.”
“Oh! My! God! I just hurt my boss!”

He and I have a good working relationship. But he’s still my boss, and in any superior-subordinate situation you’re going to have moments when you want to give your boss a big, fat, juicy paper cut and pour a little lemon juice over it. Now, I didn’t have lemon juice handy. This was real life, and I don’t inflict injury on purpose. So I forewent the citrus in favor of a Band-Aid and Neosporin.

He took it with a sense of humor, pretending to pass out when the blood pooled over the paper cut. I felt terrible about injuring him. And I apologized profusely.

But I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t recall that moment fondly the next time he really pisses me off.