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#1
06-12-2021, 09:53 PM
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Guitar pick story #100: The April Fool
Have you ever hurt yourself so bad that you feared you might not play guitar again? This is my story from 20 years ago. It actually is about 99% true. And I could not play for over a month.
The April fool I was in a large Wal-Mart Parking lot getting ready to go into the store. Always worried about locking the keys in my car I was careful to put them into my right hand pocket. I flipped the electronic lock, stepped out and caught the edge of the door with my right hand fingers, closing the door as I stepped away. But this time something caught my attention and I did not step away as much as usual. I felt the crush of the door on my right hand index finger. I turned back to the car in disbelief that I could have closed the door on my own finger, but the pain was more than enough to convince me of what I had done. Thinking that only the fingertip was caught I tried to just pull it out, but the nail began to tear from the base and that was even more painful. I tried to open the door, but found that I had indeed locked it. I tried to reach over with my left hand into my right hand pocket for the keys, but the angle and the fact that my right hand was trapped kept me from getting into the pocket. By now the pain had me in a mild panic. I am a large man, so I decided that I would work my left hand fingers under the top edge of the door and lever it open enough to free my right index finger. I did squeeze out a little room near the top, but the door was strong and the finger was too far down the side. In exhaustion I relaxed the left hand fingers which had worked farther under the door edge as I had pulled. To my total dismay three of my left hand fingers were now also trapped, although without the horrendous pain associated with that poor index digit of my right hand. Panicked, beaten, and in great pain I looked around for other options. Would I die here on this parking lot? What kind of obituary do they write for someone dumb enough to trap both his hands in a car door? Then it hit me. The obvious! Ask someone to put their hand in my pocket and get the keys and open the door! Yes that was it! Then my macho exploded! “No way! You can’t just ask any stranger to dip in your pocket.” I tried once more to pull the finger out. The excruciating pain of the nail ripping from the nail bed quickly convinced me that I was just not that macho. I turned to see a nice young man and his young daughter walking by. This was it. Give up your ego, dude! “Sir! I am in trouble here! Could you please help me?” I could see his disbelief. How could anyone, no matter how idiotic, get both his hands trapped in a car door? What if he thought it was a prank? Or maybe he would think I was some sort of nut case. Would he stop? Would he help? Yes! Yes! Yes! He turned and walked over. Maybe it was the whimper of a trapped animal that tore at his compassion. “Please, my keys are in that pocket (nodding head toward right pocket), and I cannot get to them (understatement). Would you please get them out and open this door? Would he run? Would he laugh? Yes laugh. I had just remembered that this was April first. He might think this was some sort of a prank and just walk away. Again, I think it was the whimpering pain and terror of my condition that broke through to the true compassion that resides in us all. He glanced at me one more time and then apparently fully comprehending my situation at last, he said, “yes.” Oh, what a wonderful three letter word! Never, had I desired to hear the affirmative response with such agony in the balance. He lightly dipped into my pocket and retrieved the set of keys. Then glancing at the multiplicity of unlocking devices, he looked up and asked, “Which one?” “Easy,” I thought. “It is the black rectangle one.” He picked one. “No, the more square rectangle.” He chose another, still the wrong one. And another. And another. And finally the correct key was in his grasp. “Turn it right.” No good – that must be my wife’s car. “Try left!” No good, again. “Push it in more and turn it counter-clockwise!!! He did! It opened! I was FREE!!!! By now his wife had walked over to see why I had detained her husband. I tried to explain, but as I looked at my flat, blue digit, I realized that I had a more pressing need. ICE!!! I thanked him again, and told him I was off to ice my finger. I could hear him over my shoulder saying something like, “It could happen to anyone.” I did not look around to see how big a grin he had as he told that one. Boy, what a story for them at the water cooler tomorrow! I raced into the store and to the ice machine which naturally that day had only 40 pound bags. I grabbed one and started to the checkout, only to see 10 people in each line. Skip the line, find help, get a cup, and water, add ice, soak the finger. After 30 minutes I could think again. I showed the ice bag to a Wal-Mart employee and apologized because the bag was torn right through the UPC marking. Did she say, “Forget about it, ice is on the house when you crush a finger?” No way! Instead she showed her proficiency at ringing up a bag of ice with no UPC code on a nearby register, and then looked at me expectantly for MONEY. I put down the ice cup. I did enjoy seeing her grimace a little as she noticed the black and blue yucky flattened out extension of my finger. But she like a true Wal-Mart employee held out her hand for the cash. I was able to fish out a couple of ones from my wallet and stuff the change into my left pocket. I now called a physician friend who coached me through heating a paper clip red hot and melting it through my fingernail to relieve pressure. It is funny to see your finger dance when you hold a small branding iron on it. That done I found that I could lessen the pounding pain with three ibuprofen tablets and by holding my arm up into the air, like a kid always asking a question. I decided I needed some sympathy, so I called my wife and daughter. I tried to be light hearted about the whole thing, and not reveal my agony to my daughter as I described it. I should have whimpered more. The young nurse who had seen real pain before spoke back to me from the other end of the line. “Come on Dad! That is the worst April fool’s joke I have ever heard! You don’t sound like you have been hurt at all. My wife took the phone from her. “Now honey, you know badly you tell a joke, but we still love you anyway. See you tonight, dear.” When I got home, I did get their belief if not their sympathy. We have a big family and they have seen lots of big and little wounds around our house. “The nail will probably fall off.” “It will grow another one.” “I will not be able to play my guitar, maybe ever again if the nail does not grow back right.” You need to do more reading anyway. “How can I work this way?” You have two thumbs and seven other fingers. Dejected, I went to bed and tied my wrist to a sling on the bedpost to keep the finger elevated that night, and prayed that my finger would heal quickly. That was several weeks ago, and the thing still looks a mess, but it is back to its normal thickness. My doctor friends have gone to flipping a coin on when and whether I will loose the nail. I don’t really think that they would stoop to taking bets at the water cooler, but their interest has picked up as the weeks go by. And I no longer have to walk like Napoleon, with my hand propped up chest high on my shirt button to keep the finger from throbbing. One lady last week at Sunday school told me that I had been a blessing to her. Yes, every time she felt down, she just thought about me stuck in that car door, and she had to have a good laugh. So the next time you feel a little down, just thing of me, the April fool, with both hands caught in a car door and his keys tucked safely away in his pocket. *The names have been changed to protect the idiot Yep. It was me and that is pretty much a true story. I think it was 6 weeks or so before I tried playing again. And I was concerned as I am a finger picker. The incident did teach me to close car doors with my fist and not my fingers. So, have any of you had close calls with you fingers? I hope not. But if so tell us your tale and what you gleaned from the experience. Signed, The April Fool 
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#3
06-13-2021, 07:30 AM
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 I had a similar situation when I was working on the carpentry crew during college. My school purchased four isolation chambers for the music building to allow four piano students to practice at one time. We were to assemble these iso booths. The college was isolated at the top of a mountain and those four pianos, two in the piano professor's office, and the one in the great hall, were all they had for a bunch of students to practice. My crew of three was working with the head carpenter to build these rooms that arrived in sections. As we unpacked the first box for the first booth I happened to read a notice on the box that the triple-glass door in its frame weighed 200 lbs. It was delivered on its side, blocked open an inch with wooden chocks. My boss instructed the three of us to put our fingers in the open crack on the hinge side of the door and stand up the assembly. That looked like a recipe' for disaster. I protested, but the boss said "Do it!" We put our fingers in the crack and lifted, The instant the door came off the floor, the chocks slipped out. Then the two other guys, wiser than me, saw the situation develop, pulled out their hands, let go, and stepped away. My mind didn't make the shift from "protect the full-length glass" to "survive" fast enough. The 200 lb. door slammed shut on the fingers... and latched. The door and frame fell back onto my thighs and trapped me against the wall. As was your case, both my hands were trapped in about a 1/4" gap and I was in excruciating pain. Like you there was a complication: Everyone dived for the door handle like keystone cops and discovered as a group that a) the door was delivered LOCKED, and b) the keys were shipped in another module's box, one that hadn't yet been opened. In fact, we didn't know which box the keys were in and there were four booth's worth of boxes stacked around, willy-nilly. Thus commenced another keystone cops swarm with people frantically ripping open boxes, looking for keys. I have no idea how long it went on because I was caught in Einstein's relativity: "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour.The gang eventually found a box that contained keys for the wrong booth (so they didn't fit) and applied what they'd learned to go through all the right boxes until they were able find the right key and free me. My fingertips were flattened began bloating up the instant they came out. The boss carpenter grabbed me by the arm and marched me to the cafeteria where he filled a metal bowl with ice and water, stuffed my hands in, and held them for thirty minutes over my protestations. They came out of the freeze still bloated and pruny and with a gentle blue hue and I was sent home for a couple of days. It was a week before I could fret a guitar. Bob
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"It is said, 'Go not to the elves for counsel for they will say both no and yes.' " Frodo Baggins to Gildor Inglorion, The Fellowship of the Ring THE MUSICIAN'S ROOM (my website)
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#5
06-13-2021, 02:59 PM
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Guitar pick story #100: The April Fool
Quote:
We should call your story the Lone Ranger…cause you held in trying to save the day. Wow…glad you are ok! Now your school has keyboards and earphones I bet. Last edited by whvick; 06-13-2021 at 03:10 PM.
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#6
06-13-2021, 03:05 PM
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Guitar pick story #100: The April Fool
Quote:
Thanks. You can search out about 80 more..that are numbered. There were 20 or so before I realized they needed numbers so I think the numbers start about then. Lots of good to great stories, and a few not so good. Also check out the thread that starts “I’m bored…” I was getting no stories during Covid, and the guys sent a bunch of Very good stories. And be sure to let me know if you have any good guitar related stories. Some day I hope to put together an anthology of guitar stories. Thanks whvick PS: be sure and watch out for those guitar picking digits around doors.
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