I Cut My Finger With a ‘Chainsaw’

You know those days when everything that could go wrong decides to throw a wild party and invite your clumsiness as the guest of honor? Well, mine started with a chainsaw. Yes, a chainsaw. And no, I’m not a lumberjack, nor do I have any plans to become one. But apparently, the universe didn’t get that memo.

It all began on a bright Saturday morning. I had decided to tackle the “mountain” of firewood piled next to the house. The pile was more of a firewood Everest, threatening to collapse like a stack of Jenga blocks. My neighbor, Dave, who fancies himself a backyard outdoorsman, lent me his chainsaw—well, more like he shoved it at me with a smirk. “Easy,” he said. “Just don’t lose any fingers.” Ha! Famous last words.

Now, let me clarify something: I’ve never operated a chainsaw before. The closest I’ve gotten was watching YouTube videos where professional lumberjacks slice trees with effortless grace, their teeth sparkling in the sun, muscles rippling like they were carved from stone. Me? I’m more like a cat trying to open a can of tuna: determined, but wildly uncoordinated.

After a brief tutorial from Dave—which mostly involved him yelling, “Hold it like this!” and “Watch your fingers!”—I was ready. Or so I thought.

I put on safety goggles that made me look like a very confused robot, strapped on some gloves that were way too big, and started the chainsaw. The machine roared to life like a tiny, angry dragon. At first, I was thrilled, feeling like I was about to star in my own action movie. “Timber!” I shouted, aiming to chop a piece of wood with the precision of a ninja. Instead, I barely grazed it and almost lost balance.

Then came the fateful moment.

I was trying to reposition the chainsaw for a better cut, but my glove slipped off. Not wanting to lose precious seconds, I quickly adjusted it with my left hand. In an epic display of bad timing, the chainsaw blade hit a knot in the wood, bounced, and grazed the tip of my finger. “AHHH! I CUT MY FINGER!” I yelled, jumping back like I’d been stung by a swarm of bees.

Now, before you imagine blood gushing everywhere and me fainting dramatically, let me set the scene properly: it was just a tiny cut—a paper-cut level disaster, but the chainsaw made it feel like I’d lost a limb. My finger throbbed, and I started imagining all the ways my life would change. How would I open jars? Would I still be able to text my friends? Could I still pet my cat?

Speaking of my cat, Mr. Whiskers, he was watching the whole ordeal from the porch, judging me with those piercing green eyes. If looks could kill, I’d be a ghost by now.

Determined to keep calm, I grabbed the nearest thing—Dave’s emergency first aid kit, which smelled suspiciously like old cheese—and wrapped my finger in a bandage that made me look like a pirate with a tiny hook. Dave arrived just in time, probably expecting to find me with half my hand missing, but instead, I was waving my “battle scar” proudly.

“You really cut your finger with a chainsaw?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” I said, dramatically holding up my bandaged finger. “Surprisingly, the chainsaw won this round.”

We laughed about it later, although Dave insisted on retelling the story with more and more exaggeration, turning my minor mishap into an epic saga involving a heroic battle against a ferocious wooden beast. According to him, I fought valiantly but was bested by the “Chainsaw of Doom.”

Over the next few days, I learned a few things:

Chainsaws are loud. Like, really loud. Mr. Whiskers has officially banned me from the backyard for a month.

I’m not cut out for manual labor. (Pun intended.)

My finger healed quickly, but the story? Oh, that’s forever.

Now, every time someone asks about the bandage, I give them the whole dramatic version—with sound effects, of course. Because if you’re going to cut your finger with a chainsaw, you might as well make it legendary.

So, the moral of the story? If you’re borrowing a chainsaw from your overly confident neighbor, maybe don’t try to be a lumberjack unless you want your finger to star in its own slapstick comedy.

And as for me? I’m sticking to chopping vegetables. Much safer—and far less likely to cause viral stories about me versus a chainsaw.