When Finger Met Ball: Safe At First

I figured now was as good a time as any to talk about the time the skin fell off one of my fingers during a baseball game.

It was 1995 and I was playing on a summer baseball team, weighing 97 pounds and continuing my assault on the Most Hits That Travel The Least Distance record, set in the early-1900s by Emmit Mayberry. You see, I couldn't hit, so I bunted. ALL THE TIME. If I wasn't drag bunting for a hit, I was not in the lineup or on vacation at Monticello with my father, who pretended he was Thomas Jefferson during the late-1980s. On this particular summer afternoon, my team, the Huntsville Torpedos (fictional team) was playing the Glib City Marauders (fictional team) and I was leading off the third inning.

NOTE: I was also currently an employee at the local Wendy's, my first job. I didn't like working at the Wendy's because one of the employees, who shall remain nameless because his name tag said "Deke", though he claimed his real name was "Derek" but he couldn't find any R's, and he used to find pieces of meat in various places (the floor, underneath the microwave) and put them in the chili, and the place smelled like Dave Lapoint in 1989.

Back to the game. I lay a bunt down the third-base line and beat the throw to first. Only one problem: the skin on my left middle finger stayed at home plate. I had bunted my skin off, which in the grand scheme of things, meant I got an infield single (we were down 11-1 at the time). Everybody said "you need to go to the hospital", "stop crying, you're 15-years old", and "I found the skin, will you autograph it? Make it out to 'Darren'" The best part about the injury was, I had a great excuse for quitting at Wendy's after only three shifts. I even scotch-taped a napkin to my finger for effect. So the moral of this story is: if you're making $4/hour at a fast food restaurant where a guy picks things off his shirt and puts them in the chili, just bunt your finger skin off and two weeks later you can be a bus boy at an Italian restaurant, dropping plates and making the hostess, "Amanda" feel uncomfortable, and the owner, Joe (4-11, 117 pounds), can threaten your life with a salad fork.