Whenever I’m asked just what it is I do in educational publishing, my smug reply is that “I help bring a book from conception to delivery”. Today was one of those delivery days — unfortunately, it converged with one of those days where I end up with a plaster.
Let me tell you about where the said plaster is — my left inner thigh. And how the heck did it end up there? My danged but deft reflexes.
You see, there’s a bunch of nicely sharpened, yellow HB pencils lounging around my workspace, and, amidst the flurry that accompanies my every move, they often roll off the desk, along with other editorial paraphernalia.
Because of this, I’ve developed a reflex that saves me the trouble of bending over every few minutes to gather up pencils, pens, paperclips, etc. — my knees slam together to catch them on their way down.
Well, this afternoon, my knees slammed together at the exact moment when one nicely sharpened, yellow HB pencil was horizontal to the ground, so yes — its lead point plunged into a fleshy inner thigh.
And you know what? The pencil didn’t drop even after I’d gingerly parted my knees. It was stuck. I could feel it. And I had to pull it out of me. I could feel that too.
So yeah, this was a pretty gross moment in the annals of my all-too-many gross-out moments.