The One Ton Press
I was really tied up with work this past week so I didn't feel like doing much in the writing department. If it really matters to you, then I'm sorry. Work can be so incredibly mundane. My job is quite different from most people's because I actually can control what I do. But on occasion I delve into areas that seem brilliantly creative for a while then, towards the end, I get a little bored dealing with the minutia of completion. Ideally, I would prefer to come up with a wonderful idea and then hand it off to some appreciative person who can make it successful with me checking in on their progress from time to time. Alas and alack, it doesn't work that way.
The other day I was talking to someone about accidents that result from people doing something stupid. Here in the South we are all familiar with the "Hey, y'all...watch this!" genre of accidents. I think those are the exception. More often the victim doesn't intentionally set out to get everyone's attention but the gross misjudgment of the situation results in a stunned and disfigured individual with a cadre of surprised spectators torn between gawking and turning away. I remember one such incident back in my college days...
One afternoon back in the day of mainframe computers, I was sitting in the computer lab working on some engineering assignment, waiting patiently on a cursor to reappear while a couple of Chinese students ate up all the available memory. Kip, an engineering assistant, came into the room and said he was looking for some good strong backs to help lift something down in the machine shop. He said he needed as many people as he could get because "it weighs a ton!". Since I was getting nowhere with my computer program, I volunteered to help. I followed him and a handful of others down to the machine shop and looked at the item to be moved. Kip had been honest when he said it weighed a ton because it literally weighed a ton! It was a new hydraulic press still in the crate and Mr. Coltart, the older gent that ran the shop, wanted to take it out and stand it up.
There were about eight of us and we gathered around the press and tried to find hand holds that would allow enough grip to properly herniate ourselves. The press itself was lying down positioned about three feet above the floor, resting in a cradle of boards. On the count of three we started lifting or I should say puffing and turning red because the press was not moving. We released our grip for a few seconds, re-situated and got ready for another try. Being an engineering student I recognized an immovable object when I saw one, but not wanting to appear as a wimp I gave it the old college try. One-two-THREE! This time it rose up about six or eight inches and we starting shifting toward the end to clear the crate, but it was too much. It started easing downward and in the process one of Mr. Coltart's fingers found itself between a five inch diameter stainless steel shaft and a block of wood. We all heard a small, muffled thud over our own puffing and grunting and then observed a flattened, pale flesh colored object, slightly resembling a finger resting on the bottom of the crate. One guy screamed, "MR. COLTART! YOUR FINGER!" That exclamation was followed by words I shall never forget. Mr. Coltart responded, "My finger's already gone...let's get this thing standing up!"
Needless to say the press quickly sank back into the crate and several members of our group were turning away, bowed over, dry heaving and blinking their eyes in total disbelief. One guy managed to suggest that Mr. Coltart needed to go see a doctor, but that was the extent of our offering of first aid. Mr. Coltart took out his handkerchief, reached down and picked up the squished digit, then turned and walked out of the room and across campus to the infirmary. We sat there incredulous to what we had just witnessed. I'd like to think that Mr. Coltart was one of those people that has a high threshold for pain, but when he said, "My finger's already gone...let's get this thing standing up!", well that just makes me wonder. Maybe it was shock or his nerves were too damaged to know what happened...or just maybe he was one of those guys that yells out, "Hey, y'all...watch this!"
The other day I was talking to someone about accidents that result from people doing something stupid. Here in the South we are all familiar with the "Hey, y'all...watch this!" genre of accidents. I think those are the exception. More often the victim doesn't intentionally set out to get everyone's attention but the gross misjudgment of the situation results in a stunned and disfigured individual with a cadre of surprised spectators torn between gawking and turning away. I remember one such incident back in my college days...
One afternoon back in the day of mainframe computers, I was sitting in the computer lab working on some engineering assignment, waiting patiently on a cursor to reappear while a couple of Chinese students ate up all the available memory. Kip, an engineering assistant, came into the room and said he was looking for some good strong backs to help lift something down in the machine shop. He said he needed as many people as he could get because "it weighs a ton!". Since I was getting nowhere with my computer program, I volunteered to help. I followed him and a handful of others down to the machine shop and looked at the item to be moved. Kip had been honest when he said it weighed a ton because it literally weighed a ton! It was a new hydraulic press still in the crate and Mr. Coltart, the older gent that ran the shop, wanted to take it out and stand it up.
There were about eight of us and we gathered around the press and tried to find hand holds that would allow enough grip to properly herniate ourselves. The press itself was lying down positioned about three feet above the floor, resting in a cradle of boards. On the count of three we started lifting or I should say puffing and turning red because the press was not moving. We released our grip for a few seconds, re-situated and got ready for another try. Being an engineering student I recognized an immovable object when I saw one, but not wanting to appear as a wimp I gave it the old college try. One-two-THREE! This time it rose up about six or eight inches and we starting shifting toward the end to clear the crate, but it was too much. It started easing downward and in the process one of Mr. Coltart's fingers found itself between a five inch diameter stainless steel shaft and a block of wood. We all heard a small, muffled thud over our own puffing and grunting and then observed a flattened, pale flesh colored object, slightly resembling a finger resting on the bottom of the crate. One guy screamed, "MR. COLTART! YOUR FINGER!" That exclamation was followed by words I shall never forget. Mr. Coltart responded, "My finger's already gone...let's get this thing standing up!"
Needless to say the press quickly sank back into the crate and several members of our group were turning away, bowed over, dry heaving and blinking their eyes in total disbelief. One guy managed to suggest that Mr. Coltart needed to go see a doctor, but that was the extent of our offering of first aid. Mr. Coltart took out his handkerchief, reached down and picked up the squished digit, then turned and walked out of the room and across campus to the infirmary. We sat there incredulous to what we had just witnessed. I'd like to think that Mr. Coltart was one of those people that has a high threshold for pain, but when he said, "My finger's already gone...let's get this thing standing up!", well that just makes me wonder. Maybe it was shock or his nerves were too damaged to know what happened...or just maybe he was one of those guys that yells out, "Hey, y'all...watch this!"
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