"a slice of foot."- an outside perspective on a slice of my life
well your probubly tired of my voice by now, so bellow is a little outside perspective on a slice in my life. bellow is a letter fellow intern Greg wrote to his college frisbee teem in middleberry college:
Something interesting happened today.
Over the past few weeks, I have been using my lunch breaks to play Frisbee with my friend Firehouse. We've been organizing summer intern frisbee at our company, and we've met with some success despite extremely low turnout. We sometimes have enough people for 2v2, but not for subs.
Back to the story.
Before today, Firehouse was called "Ben Alexandro". He had heard from a friend that there was a public park that was closer to our company's premises than the park we usually use for frisbee. Firehouse and I went to this new park to check things out, since nobody else showed up for frisbee today. The park was indeed closer than our usual park, and it was much better suited to playing ultimate. Firehouse took off his shoes and socks to avoid dirtying them, and we started throwing the frisbee around.
After a few minutes, Firehouse found a four-leafed clover. I checked it out; it was genuine. He placed the clover in his empty shoes, thrilled with how lucky he was.
Within about 5 minutes of finding the four-leafed clover, Firehouse stepped on an extremely sharp piece of glass. He hobbled over to me, and his foot was already gushing blood and irony. I picked up his shoes and helped him off the field.
Then we saw the fire house.
It was right next to the park, and there was a man delivering beer to the side entrance. We went to the beer delivery man, who informed us that not only did he not have anything to stop the bleeding on Firehouse's foot, but that the fire house was closed and locked. Fortunately, an electrician opened the door for us and signed for the beer. The electrician confirmed that the fire house was empty, but he was kind enough to show me where the bathroom was so I could get my friend some paper towels.
I returned from the bathroom and went up to Firehouse, who was lying on the front porch, his leg in the air, and trying to stop the bleeding with his hand.
"Ben, you're not going to believe this, but they're out of paper towels. But I found a fresh roll of toilet paper!"
I produced the toilet paper, which Firehouse applied to his foot. A fire department volunteer showed up. He told us that the building had a first-aid kit, but that the kit, like the building, was empty. He got us some paper towels, which I applied to Firehouse's foot. I got the car and helped Firehouse into the passenger seat.
"I don't think your four-leafed clover is working very well, Ben."
"Pretty ironic how this happened right after I found the clover. I can't believe there were no medical supplies or people in the entire firehouse!"
"That reminds me. I'm calling you Firehouse from now on."
Something interesting happened today.
Over the past few weeks, I have been using my lunch breaks to play Frisbee with my friend Firehouse. We've been organizing summer intern frisbee at our company, and we've met with some success despite extremely low turnout. We sometimes have enough people for 2v2, but not for subs.
Back to the story.
Before today, Firehouse was called "Ben Alexandro". He had heard from a friend that there was a public park that was closer to our company's premises than the park we usually use for frisbee. Firehouse and I went to this new park to check things out, since nobody else showed up for frisbee today. The park was indeed closer than our usual park, and it was much better suited to playing ultimate. Firehouse took off his shoes and socks to avoid dirtying them, and we started throwing the frisbee around.
After a few minutes, Firehouse found a four-leafed clover. I checked it out; it was genuine. He placed the clover in his empty shoes, thrilled with how lucky he was.
Within about 5 minutes of finding the four-leafed clover, Firehouse stepped on an extremely sharp piece of glass. He hobbled over to me, and his foot was already gushing blood and irony. I picked up his shoes and helped him off the field.
Then we saw the fire house.
It was right next to the park, and there was a man delivering beer to the side entrance. We went to the beer delivery man, who informed us that not only did he not have anything to stop the bleeding on Firehouse's foot, but that the fire house was closed and locked. Fortunately, an electrician opened the door for us and signed for the beer. The electrician confirmed that the fire house was empty, but he was kind enough to show me where the bathroom was so I could get my friend some paper towels.
I returned from the bathroom and went up to Firehouse, who was lying on the front porch, his leg in the air, and trying to stop the bleeding with his hand.
"Ben, you're not going to believe this, but they're out of paper towels. But I found a fresh roll of toilet paper!"
I produced the toilet paper, which Firehouse applied to his foot. A fire department volunteer showed up. He told us that the building had a first-aid kit, but that the kit, like the building, was empty. He got us some paper towels, which I applied to Firehouse's foot. I got the car and helped Firehouse into the passenger seat.
"I don't think your four-leafed clover is working very well, Ben."
"Pretty ironic how this happened right after I found the clover. I can't believe there were no medical supplies or people in the entire firehouse!"
"That reminds me. I'm calling you Firehouse from now on."