There I was, at work, which is where I am sometimes. I was doing what I am oft to be found doing at work, which is pretty much nothing. Not to say this is a bad job. Quite the contrary is true. But I was partaking in some oh-so-fun nothingness during a particularly un-customer-filled period of time. I suddenly found myself in dire need of something metal and sharp. No, this metal instrument was not intended to skewer an increasingly annoying customer (though many a customer of my work do deserve it), but instead to scrape some white out off of a page of my journal. I, being the lazy person that I am, decided that rather than walking ten feet to pick up the scissors, would instead rip the metal pocket-clip off of the pen in my hand. I started twisting and pulling and yanking but to no avail. I gave a particularly powerful tug which loosed the metal clip which continued in its trajectory which happened to be through my finger. Then a customer walked in. I shook off the pain (which I find odd, that we shake whatever body part is hurt. wouldn't it be more beneficial to hold it very still in case of something serious?) and walked over to the counter. I looked at my hand and thought, "hmm...I don't remember drawing a red line on my finger." So I tucked my hand under the counter and proceeded to ring up her order with one hand. People don't like blood, and do like law suits. So instead of showing her my inch long cut and threatening her with who knows how many diseases (hey, I'm a college kid, aren't I supposed to have lots of diseases from lots of unprotected "safe" sex?) I excused myself in the middle of her order to find a band-aid. I'm telling you, stuff like this never happens unless it's during a really inappropriate time where it's difficult to handle. I wish Murphey never lived.