Something from a while ago.

I originally posted / authored this on JA a few years ago. It is shop safety related, enjoy, cuz at the time I certainly was NOT (caution this contains a few four letter words, if the Mods want to edit, those feel free):


OK, first off there is a kajillion ways I can title this thread:

"Read the Labels, Dummy"
"Warning Labels, they are made for me"
"They call me Tim, Tim Taylor"
"ER Doctor knows me by my first name"
"A guys walks into the ER, and the Doctor says "you again?""
"How to scare your daughter on a holiday weekend"
"Judging if your wife actually CAN or WILL drive fast enough"
"Typing with one eye tied behind my back"

So, its the weekend, gonna do some stuff to the JTruck to get it on the road by the end of the month. I just finished spraying some paint on the last few items, tail gate, rear of cab the the dash. I wanna clean up the leading edge of the Durabac on the edge of the tail gate, and on the steering wheel. So I get all this stuff set up and ready for my skilled tasks at hand. Now mind you, this is little tedious stuff, the kind of stuff that takes time, this is how it's gonna look when it's done stuff. Stuff I've never really cared about when building my other Jeeps.

Now, I grab the remnants of gallon #2 of the red Durabac (red, remember that for later). And this next part is key, do not shake a can of Durabac, even if its been open before, the warning label even tells you this "do not shake, contents under pressure". Well, I'm a dumb white male I don't read that ****, till after the proverbial stuff hits the fan.

I'm sitting down at the picnic table, my goods are laid in front of me, I got tailgate, steering wheel, paint brush, and screw driver. I take screwdriver to said can lid, and due to the previous neglected warning, I promptly being to open the lid, and with the intense aim, and aptitude, that ****ing can turns into a spitting cobra, and spat right in my left eyeball.

Fricking mother of pearl, and the witnesses to the destruction of Babylon that crap stings like a mofo engulfed in flaming satanic vile.....

I promptly rise to my feet, and stop short of the initial response of wiping my eyes. And for those of you that know me, my pain threshold is well beyond those of you mere mortals, and yes, I'll brag about that till they bag my bones and turn them into ashes.

I yell out for my teenage daughter whos' surely sitting in the house 150 feet away, and I'm just as surprised by her quick repsonse as I was by that gallon sized spitting cobra now lounging on my picnic table with the offending screwdriver still stuck in its lid.

She comes running out, and takes a quick look at me, and from my eyeball to my neck there is an apparent trail of roll on bedliner, now most of you are thinking, So What? Remember as I said above this **** is RED, blood red.

My daughters first words are "Daddy, you cut yourself again", not a question mind you, more of a statement of historical fact of being the fruit of my loins and a witness to my calamaties.

Needless, to say, we shuffle over to the workbench, I pour out some thinner onto a rag, thinking, I'm gonna dab this ****, and mix it with this other **** that has coated one of the dearly beloved visionary devices that God has blessed me with. Not a good idea, but I know how this crap dries, and well it's gotta come off NOW, right now, I can cry about it later.

Well, all in all, after a scrubbing and thorough rinse from the garden hose, Me my wife and Jake are in the Caddy headed to the ER. Now my wife, with all due respect need blue hair. I'm thinking I should ahve just grabbed the fricking keys to my V8 powered Dodge and driven myself, I could have saved 15 minutes off the drive time (Not really, but you guys know what I mean, I can mock my wife here, she'll never read this).

As we skip to the ER, and the Doc gives me some numbing drops for my eyeball, I'm able to sit and rinse the heck out of my eye, long enough to actually have the nurse say, "sir, I think that's enough" As I peer up, all the sight in my left eye is like looking through a cloud, nothing but smoke, can't make out ****, shapes, colors nothing.

Apparently, Miss Crabtree never said nuthing about making sure the water was room temperature, apparently the coldness of the water shrunk my eyeball, and hazed the damn thing over.......Seriously I looked in the mirror my eyeball had been covered in donut frosting. Go figure.

Geez.

Well, all in all I'm sitting here thinking I need a parrot with this patch or at least some Cpt Morgan with the long necks.

READ THE DIRECTIONS, READ THE WARNING LABELS. Yes, sometimes, you are THAT guy. Well, you may not be, but I sometimes have been.