A Day of Violence

Today, a good friend sucker punched me, without the least bit intending to or being aware of it.
Reeling, gasping for breath, I went to tackle a high-perched box in our storeroom, armed with an box cutter, intent on gutting the box mercilessly and ripping its insides apart.
Little did I know that the box cutter was actually a ferocious wild one that wildlife authorities had been frantically after for months. Seizing the very moment when I had one arm up to keep the box from knocking me down and one foot caught in a stupid lurking trolley, my balance went on a psychedelic trip and the box cutter stabbed my arm viciously, tearing a blouse I'm fond of and generously sprinkling the storeroom with first quality, Grade A, universal donor blood.
My arm turned a nice, bright, dripping red. Delighted at playing doctor, the guys were very helpful and only regretted that I would not remove my blouse completely to "allow them to staunch the blood better" (on my forearm). I think they got the scissors out even before the dressings.
I then had the pleasure of sitting in a waiting room for a couple of hours before a kind doctor put three or four stitches in me, remarking in an interested tone on the depth of the laceration.
Thus ended my day, bruised, stabbed, and with a good bit less blood in my body that I had begun it.
I heard they put the box cutter down.
Some days, you should just stay in bed.