By Mark
Hello, Mark again. See Coworker Abuse for how I got to Japan.
Like many people who enjoy Japanese language and culture, I am a HUGE anime fan. During the month I was in Tokyo, I sought out possibly every Manga No Mori, Animate, YamagiwaSoft, and two bit comic shop in Tokyo. I ended up purchasing well over 300 pounds of anime stuff to bring home. A few of my acquisitions were garage kits, and to keep myself occupied, I started working on them in my hotel room.
I started that fateful night by spreading newspaper on my bed to catch the plastic I was cutting off model parts with my BRAND NEW RAZOR SHARP X-ACTO KNIFE. I had one eye on the TV, and slipped with the knife, laying open the second knuckle of my middle finger on my left hand to the bone. Blood flew all over the newspaper, and I clamped my right hand over my finger to stop the bleeding. I ran into the bathroom, and shoved my hand under the sink, with the cold water on full force. It immediately became clear the bleeding was NOT going to stop on its own.
I was staying at the Hotel Okura, which is a four star hotel right across from the American Embassy. In keeping with the snooty level of the hotel, there was a phone in the bathroom, I guess so you can sell stock whilst communing with nature, or in case you should happen to filet yourself like a fish. I picked up the phone with the remaining functional fingers on my left hand while maintaining a leechlike grip on my injured digit with my right hand. I dialed the front desk, and waited THREE MINUTES before a man answered.
'Yes this is Mr. XXX in room XXX. I have cut myself, and I need a doctor.' The man on the other end says 'Sorry sir, but you will need to call our emergency extension for that.' and hangs up. Grumbling, and bleeding, I dial the emergency number. THE SAME GUY answers after ANOTHER three minutes. 'Yes, it's Mr. XXX again. Do you have a doctor? I'm cut.' The man says 'We will send a housekeeper right up.' and hangs up again.
'A HOUSEKEEPER?' I scream at the disconnected phone. In my mind, I have fevered thoughts of some 70 year old grannie coming, witnessing the carnage, and having a massive coronary on the spot. By this time, the bathroom looks like Freddy Krueger's kitchen. There is blood everywhere, on the toilet, the phone, the floor, smeared on the countertop, and oozing down the side of the sink.
There is a knock on the door. I open the door (a trick in itself) and in walks a bellboy holding A BAND-AID between his thumb and index finger like the Shroud of Turin. I chuckle as he follows me into the room, and say 'Um, that's a bit too small.' He walks into the bathroom, and gazes upon the results of my mishap. His eyes pop wide as I remove my hand and a river of blood pours from the wound. 'So desu ne!' he exclaims. He runs into the bedroom to use the phone (obviously having doubts about using the bloodsoaked one in the bathroom) and yammers rapidly for several minutes. He then returns and says 'Matte kudasai'. 'Please wait'. So we stand there and watch me bleed.
A few minutes later, there is another knock on the door, and in walks the HEAD bellboy and the Assistant Manager. Someone had the sense to bring some strong antiseptic and a roll of gauze, which they hand to me. I sigh, and proceed to bind my wound myself.
After I finish dressing my injury, after the bleeding has stopped, and after I'm finally feeling ok, the manager says 'So do you want to go to the hospital?' I don't think he realizes how close he came to dying that night. :)
Happy ending time: the finger healed ok. No joint damage, but I nicked a tendon and so there was some stiffness and pain for a while. I do have a fairly cool scar though :)
That was my experience with the well-oiled machine of hotel medical science.
