I'm at work, cleaning panini grills. I scrape a steaming hot piece of chicken off the grill; it lands in the small gap in my shoe where the tongue had been shifted slightly. This chicken then burns through my sock (which was fairly thick) and leaves a blister on the top of my foot.
There was little I could do about the damn chicken at the time except scream and try to shake the meat off out of my shoe.
Finally, I was able to go into the back, away from customers, and tend to my wound. I was pissed when I saw the blister.
This scenario provoked the thought that I would never want to be burned to death. However, if someone were to light me on fire, I would rather just die then survive that horror.
The end.
No comments:
Post a Comment