What they don’t know can’t hurt us…
As a younger, pastier, fatter Deskbound, I used to work in a fruit shop on Saturdays. It was cash in hand and generally a good laugh with the other three who worked there.

Each morning, we used to have to wheel out two large display racks onto the arcade that the shop faced out on to. These would then be laden with many vitamin-rich delights for the wasps and old people to finger.

Both of these large units were in a state of disrepair, with panels missing and a few sharp bits sticking out.

One day, an elderly lady managed to slip on the tiled floor and drag her leg past a nice sharp piece of metal sticking out of one of the units. Blood started pissing of the wound at an alarming rate.

We managed to get her into the back of the shop and hastily cleaned the blood up and bandage the wound, a nice cup of tea helping to ail her shaky self.

She could have sued for thousands and should really have gone to hospital. But we ordered her a taxi and went about our day.

It was the boss’s call, not mine, but I still get the odd pang of guilt over this, 15 years on.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 7 Jul 2011, 14:06, Reply)