I have really bad luck

 So two weeks ago I got sick. Normally, I'm blessed with a beast of an immune system that won't even let me get a cold or a stomach virus because it's just that incredibly tough. Nothing beats my lymphatic system because it's backed with mithril.

But something managed to get through weekend before last and I spent Sunday night feeling horrible because of a sore throat that hurt even to turn my head and chills that made me feel like I was freezing in 78^oF. I spooned honey and gargled salt water and sprayed my throat and used Scope like there was no tomorrow, took a hot shower, bundled myself in blankets, dosed myself with a toddy (a remedy my grandfather swears by), and tried to sleep it out.

It didn't work. A few days later I was feeling miserable with the worst cold in human history and so I went to the doctor to get diagnosed with a sinus infection. He gave me a prescription for drugs which made me feel so much better after just the first dose that my brain did a little dance to celebrate and I may have ended up being on a feel-good high. It was an interesting few days before I got used to feeling better. 

The thing about adults, though, is that they don't just let you walk in for a doctor's appointment. They make you fill out lots of forms about your medical history and family history and insurance and how many pets you have and what you had for dinner two nights ago. I wrote down many many things and may have even made some things up, and then turned my paperwork in. They then informed me that they couldn't take my insurance. So I paid for my visit and then waited for the doctor to see me.

Once I got my prescription, I went to the pharmacy to get my pills. They too couldn't take my insurance, so I ended up paying for that as well. 

My wallet took a hit, but all else was well.

Fast forward a week. I'm at work (my second job, in which I am a prep cook at a fancy hotel) and I'm cutting up sweet potatoes. I'm doing splendidly, making chunks of orange tuber, and almost done, when my knife slips and cleaves the tip of my thumb in twain. I begin bleeding profusely and when I go to rinse it off, I notice that I've lost the entire tip of my right thumb. The shock and the sudden blood loss make me almost pass out, my boss piles on paper towels, rushes me out of the kitchen, shoves an orange juice at me to keep me awake (which is the most effective method I have ever encountered in the many times I have fallen unconscious) (I have a very extensive history of fainting), and my other boss drives me to the doctor, conveniently located across the street. 

He and I fill out a multitude of forms (a common theme among adults, it seems), I sign even more forms, and then he leaves to go back to work while I wait to get bandaged up. They take me back, have a look, lay me down on the exam table because I'm going to pass out again, put a massive bandage on, and give me vague and confusing instructions on how to take care of it. 

Then, the best part, they take me to the bathroom and have me pee in a cup. Because apparently since it happened at work, there's a chance that I'm high and my work needs to know if that's the case. Can't be having any stoned employees getting pot fumes in the food. 

Fortunately, (or unfortunately, as the case may be) I was not stoned at the time of injury (possibly because I've never tried anything stronger than tobacco), so I got to go home from work early and didn't have to work the next day either. I still had work at my first job, which, due to unfortunate scheduling, I could not escape. So I got put on the cash register and was given tasks that did not involve wearing gloves or getting my massive bandage wet.

The best part of the incident is that since it was a work-related injury, my work paid for it, so I didn't have to dig into my already empty wallet. So here's my hint for life: If you get hurt, make sure you do it at work.

So now, four days after the incident, I still have a massive bandage on my thumb that has to get changed every day (no endeavor for the weak of heart, I assure you. Especially if you only have one hand with which to do it), a right hand that is relatively useless (I've gotten really good at doing things one-handed), and the fun of telling people what happened. Their faces are the best part. Eventually I may start changing it up by saying it was a lemur attack or aliens took a sample for research, but for the moment I'm just sticking to the basics.

The doctor told me to keep it elevated, so I've developed a habit of holding my hand to my chest in some sort of half-formed Roman salute.

Additionally, the way I hold it makes it look like I'm giving the world a thumbs up, which is not the case. I disapprove of the world in general. So I pretend it's an ironic thumbs up, which is actually more appropriate since I'm approving with a damaged digit.