I have a TON of things I need to write about on the blog, but first I have to address some of my stupidity that occurred on the plane, so that you can all laugh at me, because its hilarious!
So you know that technique you use when you open a straw from its wrapper by pushing the straw up through the paper? Well I was ATTEMPTING to employ that technique with the plastic silverware packet they give you along with your airplane food... and it went all bad.
So there I was... sitting in window seat 62A. The flight attendant hands me my tray of SPAF (Stuff Posing As Food) and I accepted it gladly as the beast of hunger inside me was roaring to be satisfied. After dozing peacefully for most of the flight, it had awoken with a vengeance. No sooner than I had set my tray of SPAF on my flimsy airline table, did I reach for my plastic silverware wrapped in my unknowingly worthy adversary of a wrapper, did chaos ensue...
Grabbing the bundle of plastic with greedy haste, I gripped the bulk of the cutlery with my left hand, placed my right her the top of the plastic wrapper, and thrusted the cutlery in my right hand upward while simultaneously pulling the wrapper down with my left...
It all happened in a split second, and before the blood could drip down my arm I realized my mistake. The plastic wrapper proved to be deceivingly strong, and when the cutlery in my right hand met the bag's perimeter with resistance, I reacted instinctively and simply began to push harder in my haste for my hunger to be satiated. The moment I put my FULL FORCE into ripping open that bag's enclosure, I condemned myself to a world of hurt, and triggered a set of events that once in motion could not be stopped...
I pushed with every ounce of strength that my right hand contained, and drove the plastic knife deep into the fleshy side of my thumb. Knife wedged into the the muscle, deep past my skin of my thumb, I inhaled sharply--shocked at what I had done; shocked at the capability of this small eating utensil. I gripped the handle firmly and pulled it strongly to extract it from the place it was never meant to pierce... At the sharp inhalation of my breath my neighbor looked over and gasped...
"Oh god... oh god... OH GOD!" The volume and panic in her voice increased with each repetition of the phrase. During her cries for the assistance of a higher power the blood began to drip down my arm and onto the floor, deep crimson red. Still shocked at what was happening I just stared dumbly down at my thumb watching as the blood flowed from the wound as quickly and as desperately as a giant mob of soccer moms racing through the just opened doors of a bookstore to obtain a copy of "50 shades of Grey."
My neighbors gasps drew the attention of the flight attendants who were only a few rows of seats behind us now, as I said it all happened so fast...
They immediately began to yell directions to each other in their language (mandarin? Japanse? I don't know) and frantically began to move to the back of the plane to clear the aisle of the food and beverage cart, and employ some protocol I am sure they never imagined they would actually have to use. Once the cart was out of the aisle a beautifully petite asian woman came racing up to me with and reached over my neighbor to grab me. She had gloves on and grabbed my arm to pull me out of my seat and escort me to the back of the plane. I half walked and was half dragged to the back of the plane, holding pressure to my wound but still dripping blood all the way to the back. The knife had pierced deep and the wound was showing no signs of staunching its flow any time soon. Other gasps, concerned looks, and annoyed glances fired my way as I rushed past all of these people wondering why they didn't have their SPAF yet...
Once safely in the back of the plane, in a flight attendant only area, the attendant grabbed a moist towelette and pressed it to my wound. It seared with pain as the alcohol from the towelette seeped deep inside the gash, into my blood stream beneath my skin. No sooner than she removed it did the flow resume with indecent haste. She pulled out a syringe and before I could even protest inserted it into the heart of the cut and injected its contents. My mouth gaped with horror as I realized some sort of Hong Kong drug that I had no knowledge of was now coursing through my veins. I wanted to run, to flee, to jerk my hand away and retreat to what once was the safe haven of 62A, but I knew it was too late for that now. There was no place I could go to escape. I was in a maximum security prison, thousands of miles in the air, where there was no possibility of escape or rescue.
She then pulled out a tube of some kind of ointment, something to the liking of Neosporin I assume, and began to slather it on all over my thumb. I looked away, not wanting to see any more, until I was pinched with an unwelcome pain and watched with my own two dilated, scared, little eyes as a needle and thread began to sew up my wound...
and then I started laughing hysterically at your face right now because I obviously made up this whole story! That's what boredom will do to you in the Hong Kong airport folks... it will grab a hold of you and tell you to write an epic store about how you cut yourself with a plastic knife.
Here's the real story.
I really did cut myself with my plastic knife while trying to extract the cutlery from its plastic wrapper, and it did cut me surprisingly deep, but it didn't bleed that much, my neighbor didn't even wake up, and the flight attendant simply gave me a band aid and an alcoholic (haha) towelette and i proceeded to eat my SPAF.
The wound
The Perpetrator
The fiction writer.
Hope you enjoyed my fiction writing! I'm bored here in Hong Kong...
