Then he CUT HIS FINGER OFF

So I get home to find the cabinet guys nearly done, but the crown moulding we had ordered was not touching the ceiling as we arranged for in the showroom last week.  I knew it was wrong the moment I saw it, but I did not 'hit the ceiling' myself.  I told them and the three of us had an uncomfortable conversation before the main guy, a pleasant older fellow I'd dealt with before, called the showroom to bawl them out.

Then he went outside in the fading light to his table saw set-up in my driveway to cut extra pieces to extend the moulding up.

Then he came back in clutching his bleeding hand.  His assistant grabs a towel, wraps it and off they rush to the hospital.

I continue on my own project in another room for another ten minutes or so.

Until the assistant comes back, breathless.

He needs a strong flashlight.

To find the thumb.

I.  SHIT.  YOU.  NOT.

I swear to Me, the man cut his thumb off.  Now we have to find it.  In the dark.  And of course, I do.  About an inch or so of it, severed at or below the joint.

He grabs it with a gauze square they gave him at the hospital, puts it in a baggy already set up with ice and a gauze bed, and off he goes to help his boss get whole again.  It's too early to know if they'll be successful reattaching it.  His whole family went to the hospital and is with him.  As I am not actually all-knowing and couldn't guess as to the protocol for this flavor of madness, I asked his assistant if we should go.  He said not, he's sedated and not receiving visitors anyway.  At least we know he's getting good care.

And that's where it stands.  True story.  Just happened.  Swear to Me.