I would have made a lot of money at work tonight had I not cut my finger open and spent three hours in the E.R. waiting for seven simple stitches. Yeah, so I dropped a glass and in a vain effort to try and catch it, the glass broke in my hand and sliced my finger to the bone. Blood gushed everywhere and my manager insisted I go to the hospital. So the security guard escorted me in his police car (without the lights on) to the Baptist E.R. My wonderful sister Marni endured the waiting room with me. We talked about hypochondria, the D.C./Virginia area, and our worst jobs. Even though I only made $30 before I left work, I wouldn't have traded the evening because it was one of those surreal evenings that just doesn't happen very often.