High Tech

I have just been in a terrible predicament,

A tight spot which I am sure will make the strongest stomached of readers wince.

A dilemma which I have also considered but never dared to consider would happen.

Well happen it did.

I was busying myself in the kitchen preparing my pot of coffee, tomorrow’s lunch for Jonathan and Sarah and putting some meat in the oven for the dogs. I emptied the mornings used coffee grinds down the waste disposal and buzzed it enthusiastically into action. Now, I feel obligated to inform you that this is no run of the mill waste disposal. The former tenant was a professional chef and fitted his kitchen out accordingly. This waste disposal is the Grand Poobah of waste disposals with a whopping 2 HP motor. It is the sort of waste disposals which the salesman who demonstrate it would put an entire chuck steak in- and turn it on grinning ear to ear. The chuck steak would quickly turn into ground beef and then it would be greedily swallowed up by the impressive unit. Then the salesman would then make chicken bones, entire lemons and various other items meet the same fate.

So imagine my surprise when the machine began to clatter with the coffee grounds. Occasionally a piece of bone has been known to clog it- or I have dropped a piece of silverware down its gullet.

Glaring at the clock- for my life is as synchronized as the Chinese acrobatic team, and any unexpected event is greeted with a growl. I was falling behind my self created arbitrary schedule- and I felt my chest tighten at the mere thought of that. Those that have met me can confirm that this is no exaggeration- in fact- if anything I am understating the point.

In my raised state of anxiousness I put my left hand into the unit and facilitated the tips of my fingers to explore. Now admittedly it is a tight fit- but my hands could just about manage to navigate the sharpened clogs. I felt my fingers encounter a small object of undeterminable origin. I tried to grapple the object with my fingertips- with no success.

Now I was transforming into a small rage as frustration continued to build within my belly. I had spent the day dealing with repairing tires and queues at the DMV- it was a short trip.

I retrieved my left hand and then eagerly thrust my right one inside.

Success! I managed to trap the miscellaneous object of my frustration firmly between my index and ring finger.

All was suddenly rosy in my world again.

That was until I attempted to pull my hand out. I could not manage despite how much I tried, to pull my hand out. So I let go of the troublesome item and tried again.

It still would not bunch.

Now that is when the mental tricks began to takeover my mind.

Images from dozens of horror movies flashed through me in a whirr of blood, crushed tendons and grinded fingertips. I imagined how fast I could type with one hand- my left hand. Even though I knew in my rational mind that the thing would not spring to life as if some demon had taken over it- and given it sentient abilities…And it was hell-bent on revenge for all the crap that I had put down it over the years.

Surely that wasn’t possible…Was it?

It seemed the more I struggled the more stuck I became. I remembered once a friend who could not get his wedding band off his finger- and needed to have it cut off. (The band- not the finger…) I looked around the kitchen as my two dogs looked up at me seemingly oblivious to my plight. The phone was out of reach.

My son was out and would not be back for a couple of hours…My wife an hour or so later still. I also began to wonder what the protocol was from removing a hand from a waste disposal set in a stainless steel sink. Surely it was going to involve spinning metal cutters millimeters from my flesh.

My now blood was racing through me as if going for some sort of obscure record.

It was then that I got an idea!

It was such a majestic thought that I am sure I must have started giggling- but my memory wavers on this detail despite this happening only twenty minutes ago.

Liquid soap!

Underneath the sink was a bottle of liquid dishwasher soap!

I swung opened the doors and peered in.

The bottle was at the back.

My left hand reached in as my right hand strained.

Finally I toppled the bottle over, towards me.

My hand grabbed its prize and moments later I was pouring it down the sides of my right hand.
Taking a deep breath I attempted once more to retrieve it.

It began to move! Seconds later I was free…And I began to type.

P.S. Gifford

P.S. Gifford is a published horror author of great talent. He started submitting stories around 2005. His short stories are by far some of the best and most entertaining that I have read. Around that time he was invited to write columns which are titled "Paperback Writer."

One thought on “High Tech

  1. Great story. I'm glad you made it out with both your hands!

    Your narrative made me tense as I was reading. Typical horror story scenarios normally leave me pretty cold as a reader, but I could completely relate to the claustrophobia and growing panic of a hand stuck in a garbage disposer.

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