I had to work this Easter Sunday. We were not busy. Not being busy at work has produced many things. It has produced a sledge with old racing skis bolted to the bottom and a working brake. It has produced a mould so that I can make my own wax sticks. It has also been the birth child of indoor cricket.
Indoor cricket sounds harmless enough. This is true, it has been played in the store over most summers to while away the long and tedious days. They had never played it however, while I was there.
We made a ball, it had a sock core, wrapped in elastic bands and held together with tape. We already owned a bat made from an old ski, this was in the loft though and we couldn't be bothered to get it. Instead I grabbed the first thing to hand, an old junior ski about the same size as a bat. This I thought, would do fine.
I was up to bat first; the manger of my department was bowling. Only he wasn't bowling. He was pitching. Sure, he made all the motions of bowling, the arm travelling over the head, but the ball didn't bounce. It simply flew, at great speed, towards the wickets. Congratulations, you bowled me out. But that was a pitch, it doesn't count, bowl again.
This he did, and yet somehow he didn't. He pitched again. Once again I was out.
Now the challenge was on. I gave him the ball back, if he wasn't going to play properly then I was just going to have to change tactics. "Don't expect the bounce," I repeated to myself, "just hit the damn thing." This time when the ball came, I was ready. With ski in hand I gripped hard, and swung.
Immediately I realised this was a bad idea. I was gripping hard onto the metal edges of a ski. This hurt. I was committed now however and just tried to slow the ski down before I cut my fingers off. Well I didn't cut my fingers off, but I didn't manage to slow the ski down either. I simply let go.
I don't remember thinking to myself that I should let go. I think my brain did it for me to save my hands. Either way, this was not good.
The ski was now flying across the shop floor like a weapon from Val Helsing. Spinning as it went, aimed squarely for my manager. Contact was made. He fell to the floor holding his leg. I laughed my ass off.
I found him lying on the floor holding his shin. We were both in hysterics. Hardly able to say a word for laughing we simply tried to catch out breath, and then I saw the blood.
Suddenly this wasn't so funny anymore as the blood had made a substantial stain on his jeans. He pulled his trouser leg up to reveal a fairly nasty gouge in his shin. While this was still funny, it was now a more subdued "oh ha ha, please don't fire my ass, ha ha" kind of laugh.
Such was the damage he went to hospital and needed three stitches and a tetanus jab. When he told the nurses what had happened they didn't believe him. "My colleague threw a ski at me while playing cricket" isn't the most believable thing they have heard in Accident and Emergency.
Needless to say, I think I still have a job next year, but I cant imagine being invited to join the shop floor guys next time they are bored and need to while away the hours.
For me, for now, I'm banished back inside my workshop.