I used to work at a nighclub in Hull city center
when I was a young 'un.
It was Christmas Eve of 1991, and the female staff were dressed up in sexy female Santa outfits, complete with obligatory fishnet stockings and heels, and the male staff were wearing dresses.

15 minutes into my shift, and it's already 4 deep at the bar. One chap asks for 4 pints of lager and as I'm carrying the glasses to the tap, I trip and fall much to the amusement of the entire bar.

"Ah fuck" says I, "I've hurt my knee, it's bleeding" and figure I'll deal with it later.
As I'm pouring the first pint, the lad I'm serving politely tells me I'm bleeding into his drink. I am confused by this point, as I hurt my knee. So I take a look at my hand and sure enough there's blood streaming out the end of my finger. Uh oh.

A quick trip to the toilets and to get a plaster, I realise that I've chopped the end of my finger off. Crap. So my supervisor sends me to hospital to have it stitched back on.

While at the hospital, I was seen to first because a) of my outfit and b) the rest of the injured were drunken lads.
While I was waiting to get stitched up, a little lad was in with his mum after he'd falled downstairs and cut his eye open looking for Santa. Little lad got all excited and was going "Mummy, it's Mrs. Santa, it's Mrs. Santa!!!"

After telling him that Rudolph bit off my finger while I was feeding him a carrot, I spent the next two hours regaling him with tales of Santa's workshop and the elves. His mum was dead chuffed.

I went back to work when I was stitched up, they wouldn't let me get back behind the bar and so I spent the rest of my shift getting drunk for free and being paid for it! :D Result!
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Sat 7 Feb 2009, 20:44, Reply)