It all started at my former place of work a few years back. A severe snowstorm raged outside as I and my fellow cooks passed the time by molding Pokémon out of random kitchen supplies.
Don't touch the spikes on its head/back; they're poisonous.
The snow was piling up at an alarming rate. So much so, that the managers decided to book us a room at the local hotel. It was a state of emergency. Actually, none of this really matters. All you have to know is that there was snow on the ground the following morning when we departed from the hotel.
The next morning, a fellow cook and I lagged far behind as we thought it would be a great idea to have breakfast at the hotel. I had an egg sandwich. For $7 it was literally just a single fried egg between two pieces of dry toast. But again, the details of this horrific hotel restaurant don’t matter.
We exited the building and treaded through the snow. We came across a street cutting through the plaza that had recently been plowed. What luck, we thought as we leaped the snow bank. My coworker gracefully skidded on the ice and glided to a stop. Unknowing of the hidden patch of ice, my feet hit the ice and immediately flew from under me. My arms flailed and the purple Stop & Shop handbag I was carrying exploded above my head and flung lasted night’s empty beer cans and dirty underwear into the air.
I remember hearing “Hide and Seek” by Imogen Heap as my gently body fluttered in the wind. Unfortunately, the moment was disrupted as my body crashed against the unforgiving, icy cement. My head rang and my eyes were struggling to focus. My coworker’s laughter sounded eons away. I got up on a knee and could see the sky and the ground simultaneously.
“You alright?” my coworker managed to fit in between suffocated gasps. I turned toward him, and his face dropped as he uttered, “Oh, shit.”
Confused, I ran my fingers over the right side of my face and examined the crimson blood that was flooding from my ear.
My coworker helped me to a wall where he proceeded to take a picture of me to document the event... Because if there are no pictures, it never happened.
My long hair/expensive winter coat phase.
A grumpy, hefty man waddled over to us. I’ll call the ambulance, the lazy plowman sighed (seeing as the entire plaza should have been plowed at that point). He shuffled away, whispering obscenities to himself.
Finally, a local store that was opening allowed me to wait in their lobby just as long as I didn’t get any blood on their carpet. Though, there was no need to worry; I had yesterday’s underwear—the ones I let farts loose in—pressed firmly against the side of my head.
Eventually, the ambulance arrived and whisked me away for the generous price of $500 (=43,295 pesos for you European folk).
I later found out that I had punctured my right eardrum by hitting the ice perfectly flat on my ear, sending a gush of air flying through my ear canal and rupturing the eardrum.
Returning to work and after being told by my boss that “this wouldn’t have happened had [we] went to bed last night instead of staying up and drinking,” I was relayed the stories by other coworkers of how the accompanying cook had carried me on his back all the way to the hospital as I helplessly lost blood directly out of my head.
And that is how I learned not to insult those who have fallen victim to ice trauma.
Yeah, I was wearing shorts.