What other ridiculous warning labels can I find? "Do not attempt to stop blade with your hand," was in my chainsaw's manuel. Whew, glad they warned me. "Do not drive with sunshield in place," was printed on my accordian-folded cardboard dash protector. Really? But I like driving by feel. I venture inside the house. "For external use only," was found on the label of my wife's curling iron and I won't even speculate what prompted that warning.
I went to the cupboard and grabbed drinking glasses to search for the ultimate insult towards humanity. I was disappointed not to see a label in the bottom of the glasses that read, "Warning: User must swallow to avoid drowning."
Warning labels. So often ignored by the conscientious consumer that they are often unheeded. Such was the case as a teenager.
Headed down the dirt lane to the barnyard, I was giddy while carrying a brick of black cat firecrackers. Overripe apples were pierced with blunt sticks where I could insert a firecracker into the mushy fruit in preparation of making flying applesauce. Anything on the farm was classified as being firecracker friendly. Anthills, cow pies, big rocks, small rocks, fence posts, gutters, downspouts, cans, bottles, snake holes, a zucchini snatched from the garden...anything counted. (Yes, I eyeballed the mailbox, but left it alone.) Firecrackers were placed in, under, on top or beside targeted objects depending what position would maximize the effects from the explosion.
Having exhausted blowing up objects, I had the brilliant idea to toss them high in the air to explode. Timing was critical. An immediate launch after lighting the wick had the firecracker fall to the ground for a humdrum explosion. I needed to let the wick burn down and then toss it at the precise moment where it explodes at the peak of the trajectory to cause a resounding boom that would echo into the woods. I found the timing of the burn as a challenge.
Needing both hands to strike the match, I held the lone firecracker in my mouth. After the sputtering flame steadied, I raised it towards my mouth to light the wick. The small yellow flame neared the wick, but my coordination was poor and the flame fizzled out before lighting the firecracker. I swiped another match and raised the little yellow flame and still could not make contact. C'mon! Frustrated and cross-eyed, I held the match still and wiggled my lips to maneuver the wick towards the flame. I still failed! How pathetic I lacked the coordination of an activity that is repeated billions of times a day when cigarettes are smoked!
Irritated with myself, I reached up and grabbed the black cat and held it in my left hand while the match burned in my right. I touched the flame to the wick and...
BOOM!
It was an instant fuse and I could not feel my thumb or forefinger. I winced knowing I blew off those 2 fingers and reluctantly viewed my mangled hand. I hurt, but was gloriously relieved to see everything was intact. Fireworks and matches were dropped as I cradled my injured hand to return to the farmhouse for ice.
It was a blessing in disguise that I lacked the skills to smoke a cigarette and a disfiguring injury was avoided. The next day, with a sore hand, I returned to collect the mess I had left behind.
Embarrassingly, I noticed the warning label (for dummies like me) I had earlier overlooked...
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