Today I cleaned out some of the papers and boxes from my office. Only 5 months since I quit – what’s the hurry? I got a tad nostalgic for a minute, and then I discovered this:
It’s a wrist brace that I had to wear a couple years ago when I started to get carpal tunnel from too much typing at work. Sexy, eh?
I’m going to keep it handy (pun!) for those days when I haven’t showered, I’m exhausted and my back hurts from lifting too many children or piles of laundry. I will tell myself, “At least I am not wearing a wrist brace due to a computer injury.”
Awesomely, this was not my first wrist brace incident at work. About 10 years ago I was taking a work trip with a client, for which we had to travel to multiple U.S. cities. On Day One I arrived at the airport to meet him, and he was wearing a large wrist brace. He informed me that he had sustained an injury from “keyboarding.”
This was the first time I heard “keyboard” used as a verb.
Unfortunately this left him unable to lift his own suitcase. So he asked if I could assist in putting it in the overhead compartment.
I think it’s worth noting that I was an almost 6 foot tall 20-something. He was an almost 5’5″ 40-something.
I spent the next week of my life following this
wee man around the country, shlepping his luggage up and down, to and fro, all the while smiling and making small talk with someone with whom I had absolutely nothing in common. I am horrible at small talk. It was excruciating.
And yet in hindsight I’m grateful for the experience. It’s moments like those that make you feel like you really ‘earned’ your living. Plus bad work stories make for good happy hours.
Today I decided to wear the wrist brace for old time’s sake, and to see if it could still be useful with my new daily activities.
It helped me make egg salad.
Sidenote: I used this egg salad recipe, which links to Martha Stewart’s method for making a perfect hard boiled egg – which totally worked. Who knew you weren’t supposed to boil it the whole time??
It helped me slice a watermelon.
Do a craft with my daughter.
And made sure I didn’t hurt myself when lifting an end of day beer.
I could get used to this. It kinda makes me look like a badass, no? Like some sort of domestic ninja. But I don’t want to intimidate the other mommies at the playground, so I’ll keep it in retirement until I really need to whoop some arse. Or, until I fracture my wrist cracking an egg. Whichever happens first.