The theme of today’s blog entry is Safety.  I’ll pause while you fellow children of the ’80’s fondly recall your Men Without Hats album (you’ll notice I didn’t say “albums”).

Shelby went on a second-grade field trip with her class on Monday.  They went to a place that features a miniature layout of the city of Lexington with sidewalks, working stoplights, drivable mini cars, etc.  Sounds pretty neat.  (Jacob was quick to give her some inside scoop and told her that five years ago when his class went, the red car was the fastest).  Uniformed police officers taught the kids about general safety and situational awareness.  At some point during the trip Shelby was running around and fell and scraped her knee.  She managed to come home with an injury and bandages from a field trip to a place called “Safety City.”

It reminded me of the time I almost rear-ended a car because I was distracted trying to read a road sign that was alternately flashing “Warning!” and then “Slow Traffic Ahead!”

In somewhat of a coincidence, like Shelby I also spent part of my Monday in a heightened state of situational awareness.  Some co-workers and I attended a retirement lunch for a colleague at a Japanese restaurant.  Perhaps I should clarify that he wasn’t a colleague AT a Japanese restaurant.  He was a colleague at OUR workplace and we went to the Japanese restaurant to celebrate.  Anyway, we all sat around one of those open Hibachi grills manned by a chef with a flair for the dramatic.  (Presumably the less flamboyant chefs are relegated to steaming rice back in the kitchen).

We were enjoying the cooking performance as he brandished and twirled his knife and spatula (contrary to popular opinion, it is indeed possible to brandish a spatula).  Have you ever wondered what might add an unanticipated degree of excitement to watching a Japanese chef cook right in front of you?  I can tell you.  Try noticing that the chef’s index finger is covered in a heavy bandage.

Well, then.

I thought about his finger injury while watching him cut and chop about thirty inches from my eyeballs, which I happen to hold in high regard.  Just what circumstances led him to cut his finger, and wouldn’t a similar loss of utensil control be even more likely to recur now that he had a heavy bandage getting in the way?

I tried not to flinch while contemplating.  This is the bane of the introspective person.  Fortunately one of my co-workers is much less socially inept than I, and simply asked, “Hey, what did you do to your finger, there?”

The chef smiled knowingly and assured us that it was not an on-the-job injury.  We all shared a good laugh, relieved to learn that he hadn’t cut his finger extracting a wayward Ginsu from the abdomen of a patron.  He went on to explain that what happened to his finger was that he watched an NFL game with some buddies on Sunday.  One of them said something like, “Hey, you’re a chef!  Why don’t you make something for us to eat during the game?”  He smiled sheepishly and explained that he did prepare some food for the group but it “didn’t turn out too well.”

So we customers didn’t have anything to worry about because he didn’t hurt himself cooking at work, he only hurt himself cooking at home.  I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume there is a nuance in his argument that I have simply yet to grasp.  Everybody knows a nuanced argument can be harder to grasp than a spatula.