Brace yourself for a rollercoaster of laughter and disbelief as these people share the tales of scars earned through mishaps, misadventures, and moments of sheer stupidity. Let’s delve into the peculiar and amusing incidents that left their mark, quite literally.
1. Kids Do The Darndest Things
In my hand, I held a small circle which I sprayed with an entire can of keyboard cleaner. The substance caused my skin to freeze, becoming stiff and immovable like a solid disc. My buddy gave me a serious reality check—I had given myself frostbite, but I was skeptical.
I hadn't doused my hand for any wager or dare, nor was alcohol a factor. It was a simple case of 'I wonder if I can'. Turns out, yes, I did get frostbite. I was such a thoughtless youngster back then.
2. Erasers Are For Paper
So, I have this mark on the back of my hand. I got it in a silly dare when I was 13, and trying so hard to show everyone I was brave. I ended up using a pencil eraser and rubbed my skin off longer than another kid.
3. Painfully Sharp Lesson Learned
I carry a scar on my forearm, a reminder of an adventure with a modified paper airplane. I had ingeniously attached razor blades to the front and propelled it with help of a rubber band.
No, this wasn't a childhood mishap but rather a bizarre incident that occurred when I was 22, during my stint in the Air Force as a 3D0X2. The contraption cut my forearm open as soon as it left the ground.
In reaction, I enlisted the support of a fellow shop member to eliminate any sign of my foolish experiment and escorted me to the base hospital for stitches.
4. The Gum Ball Machine Strikes Back
I've got a mark on my wrist from an old gumball machine adventure. I can't believe my own stupidity—I once tried to snag a gumball, but my hand got caught in it. When I managed to pull it free, it took a piece of my wrist's skin with it.
5. Perfect Way To Never Receive Another Invite Again
I still remember this one time in high school when I found myself at a party hosted by Miss Teen New Jersey. Strangely enough, we didn't actually know her, but she did give us a kind invitation to help ourselves to a beverage from her refrigerator. Upon opening the fridge, I found one remaining drink, a wheat beverage stashed away in the veggie crisper.
As I pulled it out, something sharp on the bottom of the shelf nicked the back of my hand, setting off a surprisingly copious amount of blood. It sprayed everywhere; on the fridge, the food and the floor.
In the midst of my frantic efforts to clean up the mess, my friend rushed into the room, looking as white as a sheet. He quickly ushered me into the bathroom where he had managed to block the toilet with an overambitious 'number two'.
Catching sight of the bloody cloth I was using to tend to my wound, he promptly became nauseous. Unfortunately, his reaction ended up blocking the sink too.
The '90s were really something, weren't they? I still bear the scar on my hand from that incident. The hazy details of our attempts to remedy the chaos remain lost to me, but I will say this—we certainly weren't invited back to Miss Teen New Jersey's house after that.
6. One Dangerous Pop Tart
Once, as a kid, I was munching on a wild berry Pop Tart, and ended up scarring my leg permanently. It's one of those foolish childhood mishaps. I was heating my Pop Tart in the toaster and when it popped out, the icing was sizzling—so hot it was actually bubbling! Unsurprisingly, it was too hot for my fingers and I dropped it.
The hot pastry fell directly onto my leg, frosting-side down. As I tried to swat it off, my skin came off with it. The accident gave me near third-degree burns. I had to be rushed to the hospital right away. Fast forward 20 years, the scars are still there, a constant reminder of my innocent mishap.
7. Sweet Treat Horror Story
Once, I attempted to toast a Peep Marshmallow over a bonfire. Unfortunately, a dollop dropped on my leg and left a harsh burn. Even a decade later, the scar remains. From that day forward, my view of Peeps completely changed.
8. Bitten By A Screen Door
When I was just a little kid around the age of 4, I was so eager to get outdoors that I accidentally ran through a storm door. The consequences were ghastly—that small miscalculation led to severe damage to my arm and it had to be stitched up.
Because of the awkward location of the injury, they didn't have a way to numb the area, meaning I had to bravely endure the stitches without any pain relief. A couple of days later, while assisting my mom in baking cookies, I stumbled and the wound was torn open again.
Now, over 30 years later, I bear a scar on my left arm that eerily resembles a bite mark.
9. How To Earn Your Very Own Harry Potter Scar
Growing up, my folks would always tell me not to lean back in my chair during dinner. I'd respond, "Relax, all will be fine as long as I don't lean back too much". But, true to Murphy's Law, I did just that, and ended up cutting open my forehead on the edge of the stove.
I now have a scar shaped like a lightning bolt next to my eye, and overnight, I turned into a sort of light version of Harry Potter.
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10. Not The Type of Scare They Were Going For
I can vividly recall that specific date — it was Tuesday, November 7, 2000, the US Election Day. My sister and I were preparing for our maiden voting experience, and I also had a check to deposit.
She was downstairs in the restroom dolling herself up, meanwhile, I was stuck in my room upstairs. Interestingly, the bathroom door was positioned next to the stairway, and as I ambled down, it seemed as if she was just emerging from the washroom.
This was a usual prank. Time and again, I’d leap down the remaining stairs, crouch to avoid the door frame at the base of the stairs, make a sudden appearance right in front of her as she was exiting her room or the bathroom, and frighten her. It never got old—always resulted in a good laugh.
But on this particular occasion, I misjudged. I didn't lower my head enough and banged it onto the upper edge of the frame. My head came to a gradual halt, but my feet kept moving. I spun like a whirlwind and came to land on my stomach/arm, on the stairway, facing the opposite direction.
Following this spectacle, my sister exited the bathroom, visibly puzzled at what had occurred. I lay there sprawled on my stomach, clutching my throbbing head, and under the suspicion that I might have fractured my arm. I informed her about the fall and the probability of a broken arm.
Upon her request to take a look at it, as I hoisted myself up, I noticed I had inadvertently decorated the carpet with a pool of my own blood. I rushed into the bathroom and thrust my head under the bathtub faucet while my sister scurried off to inform the folks.
The aftermath was a hospital trip, a confirmed concussion, and 12 stitches, resulting in a 4-inch long scar as a lasting souvenir on top of my head. Nevertheless, I managed to cast my vote, albeit much later than planned, and successfully deposited my check too.
To my satisfaction, I did succeed in spooking my sister, and looking back now, the whole ordeal seems hilarious. And that's how the day was an interesting combination of mission failure and success.
11. Someone Was Terrible At Long Jump
Back when I was in 4th grade, our TV was awkwardly located upstairs, and the stairway was too narrow for a regular sofa. So, we made do with camping chairs that had footrests attached by straps, kind of like portable recliners. We had been using these setup for several months, yet one day, I surprisingly forgot how to exit the chair without stumbling.
With the chair under my feet, I looked around. I noticed that the door leading to the stairs was wide open. I then thought, "Maybe if I jumped over the armrest onto the direction of the open door, I could avoid tripping."
However, as you might have anticipated, things didn't go as planned. My foot got hooked onto something, and I ended up bringing the whole chair down with me. I found myself landing face-first onto the upright edge of the open door.
I ended up cutting my lower lip on the door and my teeth, not completely though, and now I have this visible scar that peeks out every time I smile.
12. Someone Didn’t Want To Play Nice
A child at my church's nursery did me so dirty—she stuck me in the eye with a plastic carrot four decades ago. That incident left me with a scar that I still have to this day.
13. That Kind Of Protein Isn’t On The Menu
When I was working as a sandwich maker, my colleague was retrieving a sandwich from the oven. The hot cheese brushed against my arm, peeling off a bit of my skin. The resulting blister morphed into a scar. Someone unknowingly ended up with a bit of my skin in their lunch.
Just awful. The pain was immense, and I fled to the back room to yell out. It happened so quickly that I didn't have a moment to inform my coworker to discard the sandwich and he didn't spot the issue either.
14. Literally Had Their Teeth Knocked Out
I have a barely visible scar tucked under my lip.
When I was just six years old, during the sunny days of early June, we found ourselves outdoors for gym class, specifically playing T-ball on the baseball field right after lunchtime. Alongside my friends, a boy began to annoy me, so I stood up to shoo him off. The moment I got up, he started running, and naturally, I gave chase.
He darted across the baseball field, right across the path of the batter at the plate. As I approached the batter, he swung, and unfortunately, his bat caught me, squarely hitting my lower lip. I had four adult teeth at that point, which were my front teeth. The bat chipped both of my upper teeth and knocked the rest into the gravel on the field, slicing through my lower lip in the process.
The fear was intense, I doubt I'll forget the dread in asking the teacher if this was the end for me. I ended up needing braces in high school and a dental implant for my bottom teeth when I was 25. My top two teeth were repaired during my childhood.
In retrospect, chasing that boy onto the field wasn't the smartest move—a truth made evident even 25 years after the incident. But I was just a six-year-old kid back then, and these days, I try to not be too harsh on my younger self for that rash decision.
15. What Goes Up Must Come Down
When I was about 13 or 14 years old, I was absentmindedly throwing a can of wasp spray up and catching it. At some point, my coordination failed and I decided not to catch it. As fate would have it, the can ended up hitting me in the face.
The edge of it landed right on my eyebrow, causing quite a large cut, and boy did it bleed a lot, like a pig being stuck. It even made a dent in my eye socket. Now, I've got a cool little scar as a souvenir, but man, talk about a silly mistake.
16. Turns Out Knights Need Armor
The silliest scar I have was earned from bike jousting. Initially, we used baseball bats, and it's pretty surprising that nobody ended up with any broken ribs. However, we moved on to tree branches because the bats didn't quite provide the range we needed. This is when things got real dangerous.
I ended up with an interesting scar on my right shoulder where a sharp branch punctured and halted right under my collarbone. My friend too has quite a story to tell with the scar along his ribcage, thanks to the piece of flesh that my branch stripped off. Guess what? It seems having some armor would've been a smart idea.
17. Not Even Marshmallow Fluff Is Harmless
Marshmallow spread tale. I remember injuring my hand on some marshmallow cream. Growing up, I fancied myself the next Hercules, deciding to tackle opening my very own jar of marshmallow spread for my peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich.
With prior sandwich making, some of the marshmallow had stiffened around the jar rim, right where the top meets the filling. The marshmallow would become thin and firm. With one mighty groan and a twist, I ended up cutting my hand on the solidified marshmallow. Fast forward four decades, and a scar remains across my palm.
18. A Lesson For Impatient Gummy Bear Lovers
Back in high school, I almost lost the tip of my index finger trying to open a particularly difficult gummy bear packet with a jagged tool. My finger started bleeding profusely, the blood scattering across our ceiling almost like a fountain. Thankfully, I made it to the hospital with my fingertip still barely attached, so I managed to keep it.
But to this day, I don't have any sensation in my fingertip, above my scar that resembles Frankenstein. Here's some advice for all other eager gummy bear aficionados—always opt for scissors.
19. Shouldn’t Take Up Hurdles
It's actually because of me that grocery stores ditched ropes for blocking off register lanes. At 15, I worked as a bagger at Publix. One Friday night during peak hours, I was packing a lady's groceries when I realized her bag of frozen peas had torn open. My boss instructed me to fetch her a new bag.
Feeling cocky on the way back, I tried to leap over the rope marking the next register lane. Disaster struck when only one of my feet cleared the rope, leading to an embarrassing fall right in front of what seemed like a sea of customers. On top of that, the bag of peas I'd gone to replace burst as well, so I'd failed twice over.
After receiving eight stitches in my chin, I swore off trying any sort of sporty moves at work. The supermarket decided to remove the ropes not long after that incident.
20. Won’t Be Suiting Up A Power Ranger Any Time Soon
My brother and I once turned a pair of suspenders into a tug-of-war game while watching Mighty Morphing Power Rangers. Those who grew up with iPads and Netflix wouldn't understand how we had to invent fun with just imagination and practically nothing.
Unexpectedly, my brother let go of the suspenders—and that's when disaster struck. The heavy side with the metal clasps acted like a slingshot and flung back, hitting my face, slicing open my lip in two spots, and breaking a tooth. From the age of four to about 10 or 11, I had a gap in my teeth.
My brother ended up crying more than me and received ice cream to soothe him. As for me, I was sipping everything through a straw for days, because opening my mouth risked loosening the stitches. The facial scars have faded now and can only be seen when I smile.
Just for fun, I still give my brother a hard time about this incident. Let's just say it's a unique form of sibling love.
21. The Perils Of Cuteness
In simpler terms: I was strolling around when I unexpectedly stumbled over my new kitten. My fall led to a hitting my head against the couch, resulting in a painful wound.
22. Michael Jordan Wouldn’t Have Cried
I've got a fairly big scar right on my knee. When I was just 16, I was headed to my car with a friend. The car was parked in a lot that was surrounded by metal—guardrails, the type you'd see on highways. My plan was to sprint towards the rail, step up onto it, and launch myself high into the air.
But that's not how things went down. Instead, I ran towards it, hiked my knee up to plant my foot on top just long enough to stand upright above it. However, my flip-flop slipped right down its curved surface, causing my right knee to slam into the sharp steel edge on top, angled upwards at 60 degrees.
Despite the pain, I managed to keep my cool long enough to make it to my car and climb in. But once I saw how much blood was streaming from my knee, I couldn't hold back the tears. Now, the scar serves as a reminder of that lapse in my judgment.
23. Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
When I was a kid, I had a really kind Rottweiler. One day, I dashed to him while he was napping, and instead of carefully climbing on the couch as I typically did, I jumped onto it to lie down. The suddenness startled him, ending with me getting my eyebrow sewn back on by a doctor at the hospital.
Now, I have two distinctive scars, one above and one below my eyebrow. Despite my Rottweiler being incredibly kind-hearted and even giving me a guilty lick after the incident, I've been afraid of dogs ever since.
24. Spirits Can’t Solve Everything
When I was an innocent five-year-old, I had a fascination with collecting bottle caps, especially those from adult beverages, and during one visit at my father's house–who, to be frank, had a bit of a drinking problem and held quite stereotypical rural views—I had the most unforgettable experience.
Our relationship has strained over the years due to his past inappropriate behavior which includes making disrespectful sounds at a family of a different race, and unfortunately, we don't maintain communication now.
However, during that visit, I found a treasure trove of bottle caps as he had many bottles scattered around his house. Initially, it was quite successful as I could collect a majority of the caps by myself. Then I bumped into this one stubborn bottle whose cap was sealed too tight.
Of course, my child's mind decided against asking for assistance or using the right tools to open it. I thought, if I smashed the glass bottle on a solid concrete surface, the only thing remaining would be the cap–my prize to keep! Immediately, things wen't downhill for me.
I still can't figure out how, but the supposedly empty bottle was still pressurized and upon breaking, catapulted a tiny piece of glass directly into my left upper arm.
In his tipsy-laden wisdom, my father decided the best course of action was to douse the wound with his beverage, acting under the misguided assumption alcohol should sterilize the wound, ignoring the other components in his drink.
My arm was soaked in alcohol and the glass removed with a basic utensil, leaving behind a one cm square white mark that has only recently started to fade.
25. A Joker’s Smile
I have a real fondness for olives. I'm equally fond of my husband. The thing is, my husband reciprocates my love for him but not my love for olives. In fact, he detests them. I confess to having a peculiar habit from my younger days where I'd walk around with a half-open can of black olives while munching on a pizza.
It was the day after Christmas, I was relishing the tastiest leftover pizza in town, accompanied by almost an entire can of black olives. I was leaning against the kitchen counter, chatting away with my hubby who was perched on his computer chair nearby. I pointed something out on the computer screen, leaned in to give him a quick peck, and he flinched.
"What's that food smell?" he inquired.
"Just my pizza and black olives," I respond casually.
"Ugh, I can't stand your olives," he grimaced.
I must admit, my cheeky younger sibling instincts took over. Grasping the olive can, I decided to jokingly waft the smell of olives towards him. He jerked away, trying to dodge me and bumped into my arm, causing the can to hit my cheek.
Just to clarify, I stay as calm as a summer's day during emergencies, while my husband often panics. I quickly covered my face to stem the bleeding and he, mistaking the situation, is now in an absolute frenzy, thinking it's a major eye injury and bustling about to rush me to the hospital.
Eventually, I get a clean washcloth, press it against the wound and count to 30. Upon realising it's only my cheek, he calms down slightly. Still in shock, I couldn't gauge the extent of the wound. Followed by a quick trip to inspect the damage in the mirror, my husband spent the entire time pleading with me not to look and apologising profusely.
The injury wasn't earth-shattering; it was more than a paper cut, but thankfully, both my eyes and cheeks were safe. I did, however, sport a half side of a Joker's smile. The cut started from just inside my lip's curve, curving upwards almost an inch on my cheek, reaching halfway up to my eye.
Fortunately, the deepness of the cut wasn’t very severe; it didn't reach the insides of my mouth, just a few millimeters at the bottom. I do bleed heavily, so initially, the injury appeared a lot worse. We ended up rushing to the ER because the local clinic was closed and I needed stitches.
The ER physician did an exceptional job stitching me up. The entire time, my handsome hubby and I weren’t questioned about the incident. I was clearly sober and frankly, just found the whole situation amusing, so the doctors presumed it was an innocent mishap.
In the beginning, there was a slight misalignment of my lips, but, in about six months, that corrected itself. All that remains now is a barely noticeable, slender white scar just above my lip. To this day, my husband still feels guilty.
26. The Dangers Of “Only One Trip”
I stumbled at the entrance of my home, arms loaded with grocery bags. Very heavy grocery bags, I must add. I had been slightly stooped over from retrieving the bags following unlocking my front door, so when I ended up going headlong into the carpet, I scraped my cheek considerably, right beside my eye.
These days, it's just a darker spot but it gives me the look of someone perpetually recovering from a surprising punch.
27. Well That Escalated Quickly
Back when I was just a small kid, I pulled the head off my younger sister's doll. In response, she struck my head with a garden tool, requiring me to get 11 stitches.
28. There’s A Reason There’s No Running In The Halls
When I was just a tiny tot of six, I was having a great time tearing down the corridors of my local YMCA—not the brightest idea, I admit. But neither is it wise to have the locker room doors swinging right out into the hallway. As luck would have it, one door swung open just as I was zipping by at top speed.
I vaguely recall being on all fours, noticing a solitary drop of blood stain the floor, then staring in a mirror as the doc stitched me up. It was quite captivating to my young self. Still to this day, I carry around my own version of a Harry Potter scar.
29. Lost A Fight With A Pencil And Gravity
When I was in 6th grade, I used a pencil to prop myself up while leaning back on my chair. The sharp pencil slipped off the table and poked right through my jeans and into my thigh.
I found myself standing in front of the whole class, pencil sticking out of my leg like a cartoon arrow, and had to request to visit the nurse. I can still picture my teacher's shocked expression.
30. Not The Smartest Idea
I was busy getting rid of mold using a high-powered pressure washer on my patio stones. At one point, I started idly thinking about whether the same machine could strip the skin off my foot. Now, the scar adorning my foot serves as evidence that it's indeed possible.
31. Tools Should Be Used For Their Intended Purposes
Back when I was six, I got this mark on my finger. My buddy was whirling me around in a chair and in a playful moment, I swung my legs to kick him, thinking it would get a good laugh.
Unexpectedly, my leg snagged a cord from a sewing machine, causing my hand to jam between the machine and a nearby table. It seems I also snagged the needle, given how deep the cut was.
Good thing my friend's mom was a nurse; she was able to provide immediate care. On my other hand, I have an additional scar, this one from a screwdriver mishap while trying to install a grommet into a motorcycle fuel tank.
It slipped and dug something fierce into my hand. The whole time, I could hear my middle school shop teacher's voice echoing in my head, reminding us to only use tools for their proper use. Apologies, Mr. White.
32. Let It Burn
You know, I used to believe I was the only one who had a burn mark right on my forehead. My folks used to have this neighbor who couldn’t go a minute without lighting a cigarette. Keep this in mind—this is an important detail for later.
He used to hang out with my parents, right in our front yard. As kids often do, I was just darting here and there, and just my luck, I bumped right into his lit-up cigarette. Now, the scar isn’t as visible but it does feel like a silly mark to carry around.
33. Face Meet Asphalt
Once upon a time, when I was twelve years old, I rode my bicycle down a steep hill at nearly 30 miles per hour without using my hands. Wanting to go even faster, I kept pedaling away, without grabbing the handlebars. However, in the top gear and at such a high speed, the pedaling didn't provide any pushback.
Suddenly, the pedal just gave way, causing me to flip right over the handlebars and land squarely on my face onto the road. After a while of nursing my wounds, I healed up just fine, only left with a tiny scar tucked under my nose.
34. Fashion Over Function
Around the age of four or five, I was dead set on sporting my playtime plastic heels while I assisted my mom and grandma with unloading groceries. I hadn't gone shopping with them but was at the house when they needed help unpacking from the car. So, I strapped on those plastic heels, despite them barely fitting, and had one plastic strap across the top keeping them onto my feet. Loaded with grocery bags, I dashed down our concrete stairs.
I took quite the tumble, so much so that I was convinced my head was lodged in the chain link fence. Fearing I'd get cut by the fence, I froze, even though in reality, I'd had a face-to-face introduction with the pavement, not the fence. That fall resulted in a trip to the hospital where I received stitches on my forehead, leaving me with two small scars in the center.
What's truly baffling is that before this whole incident, I remember warning myself to be cautious because those plastic heels were essentially an accident waiting to happen. Why I decided to dash in those heels, fully aware that walking was a struggle itself, remains a mystery to me.
35. Self Branding Not Recommended
Personal Branding. When I was 17 or 18, I spent time with a group that claimed not to be a fraternity, even though their actions said the opposite. Honestly, it was a bit silly and we often ended up consuming a lot of alcohol.
Everyone else decided to get the group's brand, but I stood my ground as someone who didn't follow the crowd. Instead of the group brand, I decided on a smiley face.
We managed to "borrow" a Bunsen burner from the school lab and reshaped some coat hangers into our chosen designs. The others fashioned an 'eight' inside a circle, while I crafted my smiley face. We heated these hangers until they glowed red-hot and branded ourselves.
This resulted in painful burns that looked gruesome and mutated while healing. Fast forward almost 30 years and I still have a significantly sized, recessed scar in the form of an eerie smiley face on my leg. Let's just say, I wouldn't recommend it.
36. Stupidity Can Lead To Painful Consequences
When I was about 10 years old, my buddies and I thought it would be awesome to build our own challenging obstacle course in the forest behind where we live. At the time, it seemed like the best idea ever, but now I realize it was just dumb.
The first thing we made was a kind of homemade zipline using a heavy-duty rope tied between two trees. One pal bravely, or foolishly, decided to be the test pilot and, without a second thought, he grabbed the rope and swung off the small wooden platform we'd built on a tree.
Halfway through his flight, we discovered a major problem—the rope's end wasn't tied properly. Just as he reached the far end of his swing, the rope gave way, and he ended up in a prickly bush.
Despite what we witnessed, we weren't the best at learning lessons. So, unruffled and quite silly, we chose to continue our adventurous endeavor, leaving zipline repair for later. My turn came next, I took a deep breath, held the rope really tight, and went for it.
Shockingly—or not—it was deja vu. The rope broke and I was hurled towards that infamous prickly bush. But I didn't just get thrown into it—I managed to snag my ankle on a poking-out branch, which violently swung me around. Then I let out a ghastly scream. Consequently, my knee met another pointed branch.
The pain was beyond anything I had felt, and I let out a yell that could've alarmed every critter in those woods. My friends speedily assisted me down, but the harm was already done. I was left with a severe cut on my knee and a nasty graze on my ankle.
Obviously, we had to own up to our parents who were suitably shocked and lectured us extensively about safety and the importance of using our brains. To this day, I carry a scar on my knee as a permanent reminder of how lousy decisions can result in painful outcomes.
37. Cat Fight Collateral Damages
I separated two cats who were fighting; yes, a real cat brawl. Our thoughtless neighbor abandoned his cat outside in the cold. Noticing this, I took the cat inside. However, that cat initiated a battle with my cat shortly after. I stepped in to break it off, and in the process, the cat bit and scratched my hand, leaving a lasting scar.
Honestly, I don't have any regrets though. My cat had been declawed before I adopted him, so he was unable to protect himself properly.
38. Not The Way You Header A Soccer Ball
During gym class, even though I wasn't playing, a soccer ball came out of nowhere and smacked me right in the face. The other kids had tried to warn me, yelling for me to watch out. I did look up, but not a moment too soon—the ball landed square on my face.
The collision threw my glasses upwards, and the edge of the frames nicked my forehead, causing a bit of bleeding. This sight probably looked more gruesome to everyone in the gym than it actually was. Thankfully, it was just a minor cut—a mere ¼ inch that resulted in a scar just as small.
Post first aid by the school nurse, I continued about my school day. No sooner had I entered my next class, everyone swarmed inquiring about my mishap. On hearing the story, they started calling me a dork.
39. Don’t Underestimate Screen Doors
One morning, while taking my dog, Snoopy, out, he was so eager to relieve himself that he bolted down the back porch stairs as soon as I opened the door. I swiftly followed him, fearing he might lose balance and tumble. In my hasty scramble on wool socks and slippers, the back screen door glanced me on the heel.
The sting wasn't terrible at first, and I simply limped around while Snoopy did his thing. When we got back inside, my heel throbbed uncomfortably, prompting me to remove my sock. To my surprise, it was soaked through with blood.
Removing it revealed a sizeable cut on my ankle. A run-in with a rogue screen door got the better of me, all thanks to unfortunate timing.
40. Not What You Want To Find Under Your Cast
When I was little, I had a bit of a mishap and ended up with a broken right arm. This unfortunate event resulted in my arm being encased in a cast, which, if you've ever worn one, you'll know can get incredibly itchy. It was like my skin had its own heartbeat under there.
After struggling for two long months with the discomfort, I came up with what I thought was an ingenious plan. I grabbed a pen and started to scratch away at the otherwise unreachable itchy spots underneath my cast.
But, in my determination, I pushed the pen in too far to the point where I simply couldn't pull it back out. Fearing my parents’ anger, I decided not to tell them and hoped it would all miraculously resolve itself.
Skip forward another two months, it was finally time for my cast to be removed. However, the night before the big event, my mom noticed that my arm was giving off a rather unpleasant, decaying odor. So, fast forwarding a bit, we're back at the hospital where they proceeded to take off the cast, only to find quite a surprise.
That pen, that I so intelligently used, not only remained stuck to my skin for months, but it had gone so far as to penetrate right through, creating a hole the size of a penny full of pus. Surprisingly, I hadn't felt a thing.
In the long run, the hole healed over time, but it left a rather distinctive penny-sized scar as a lasting reminder.
41. The Consequences Of Being Nosy Neighbors
One Christmas, back in 2010, my older brother and I were up to our usual hijinks. At the time, I was 10 and he was 12—I Idolized him. I followed him around, eager to help with any of his plans.
While our grandparents basked in the sunshine on the patio, Mariah Carey humming in the background and our mom cooked up a storm of ham and roast vegetables, my typically clueless dad tried his best to figure out our brand-new ice machine.
Here's some context: We're kids from the Australian suburbs. This becomes relevant since, in Australia, the norm is to extend invites to your neighbors or even your entire street, for big family events. Birthdays, lazy afternoons on the front lawn, shared barbecues on Australia Day, you get the drift.
However, we never shared much of a bond with the family living behind us. My take on that? Probably boils down to that ridiculously tall tree they never saw fit to trim, which used to end up filling our yard with palms.
This particular Christmas though, the ordinarily loud family behind us was noisier than ever. My curious, ever-nosy brother wanted to find out what their cheerful racket was all about. His plan involved a chair against the fence, then climbing it for a casual peep.
However, his plan was rather flawed. The chair was unstable and couldn't handle his weight. Enter, his loyal little assistant—me. I eagerly sat in the chair, my brother making use of the headrest as a makeshift step to lean over. The suspense was palpable. Suddenly, he stiffened.
Mid-spying, we heard a voice from the other side: “What are you doing up there?”
Busted! My brother clambered down, the sight of his head peeking over the fence having given us away. In my panic, I urged him to scramble down faster. As he came down, his foot slipped, and his toe smacked me right in the cheek. It was like a slow-mo moment. Disaster.
As if nothing happened, he waltzed off to join my grandparents' conversation. I, on the other hand, was left with this burning sensation on my face. I sprinted to the bathroom, examined the wound—an oddly precise teardrop cut. While amazed by its form, the sting pulled me back to reality.
I tried to clean it up and plastered a band-aid on it—as an innocent 10-year old, that was the best I could do. I walked out pretending nothing happened, and took a cue from my brother when questioned about the band-aid, claiming it was my attempt to look like a Christmas Pirate. To this day, that scar remains, still quite tear-shaped.
42. Note To Self: Ask For Help
I was in the process of changing the tire on my girlfriend's best friend's Audi. I had insisted, somewhat heatedly, that I didn't need any help even when my girlfriend kind-heartedly offered. The scene included a jack sitting on an oil-stained piece of asphalt and as I tried to remove the tire, it slipped.
My hand got stuck, squeezed between the German-engineered metal fender and a tire. All of a sudden, I let out a high-pitched scream, prompting my girlfriend to swiftly investigate the commotion. She tried her hardest to free me, but no luck there. I started thinking that maybe we needed to call AAA to get me out of this bind.
Suddenly, a stranger — a neighbor we'd never met before — comes out from his apartment and astonishingly lifts the car a full 6 inches off the ground, freeing my trapped hand. After this heroic display of power, he disappeared, never to be seen again.
My girlfriend rushed, slightly panic-stricken and squeamish about blood, took me to the emergency room, where they then transferred me to the Orthopedic ER. By some miracle, the jack had spared my bones, leaving only a flesh wound that has since turned into a 1 inch by half inch scar.
I'm still with the same girlfriend — now my wife of 25 years. Now, if she ever offers help, I gladly take it.
43. A Lesson In Watching Where You’re Going
You know, I bumped into a tree once. That's really all there is to the story. It happened during a high school field trip when we were hiking in the mountains. I managed to walk straight into a tree right ahead of me. Not my finest moment, really.
Interestingly, this wasn't my first run-in with stationary objects. I had a similar kind of mishap back in 2nd grade. I was wandering down the school hallway when I heard these two older girls humming a sweet melody. I was so entranced that I spun around to see them and... boom! I bumped straight into a pillar.
44. Slip And Sliding To The ER
This story goes back to when I was in 9th grade, living in the dormitory. My friends and I thought it would be funny to cover the large communal bathroom, about 6 meters long with several stalls lining both sides, in shampoo and slide around. We kicked up quite a ruckus, slipping and sliding, until one particular movie-inspired stunt came to my mind.
I envisioned myself sliding on my knees, body leaning back and arms extended behind me. Overzealous and perhaps a bit too eager, I began my stunt. Soon, I found myself careening uncontrollably toward the other end of the room. By the time I recognized the risk and contemplated making any changes to my trajectory...it was already too late.
I was going so fast that had I tried to crouch into my planned slick pose, I would've crashed full-force into the far wall. I made a split-second decision to stop running instead, but the momentum was too much. My legs halted, but the rest of my body, still propelled by the speed, didn't catch up.
I ended up taking quite a tumble face-first onto the hard ceramic floor. As I got up, I noticed a small cut just above my eye, but brushed it off as minor. However, a glance in the mirror revealed a bloody cheek. As it turns out, the cut required six stitches. Even more mortifying than the physical pain was having to explain how I ended up with this scar.
45. Not Splitting He Was Going For
When I was just 12 years old, I had a not-so-brilliant idea to split a color pencil right down the center, for no particular reason. The go-to tool? A chisel, of course. So, I held the chisel in one hand, the color pencil tightly in another, and aimed to slice the pencil.
Instead, I missed and hit my hand. Panic ensued as I tried to control the bleeding. I woke my mom up only to be told to stick a bandaid on it and head back to bed.
The next day at school wasn't any better. It was a major challenge to type in my computer class due to the injured hand. Upon telling my teacher, I was sent to the nurse. She ended up calling my mom, who strangely didn't recall our little conversation from the night before.
Next thing I know, I'm at the doctor's office getting stitches. I'm back to my old self now, except for the scar, a permanent reminder of my not-so-great idea at that age.
46. Noses Aren’t For Roasting
There I was, around a bonfire, trying to roast marshmallows just right—going for that perfect shade of golden brown, not charred black. My marshmallow caught fire, so instinctively I tried to blow it out! But, my roasting stick was less sturdy than I'd thought, swinging forward and tapping my nose.
Suddenly, I'm sitting on the beach, my nose smothered in blazing, molten marshmallow. I even ended up slapping my face repeatedly before running for ice from the cooler. My friends gave puzzled looks at my frantic slapping and promptly began calling me Rudolph.
This nickname stuck, even among my colleagues at the shopping mall, and continued for several months until the scar began to lighten. Now, if you look closely, you can still see the scar.
47. PC Cleaner Is For PCs Not Skin
I've always wondered about what's really inside that can of pressurized PC air cleaner, you know? So, I tipped it upside down—so that the fluid was sloshing around right by the exit nozzle—and then hit the spray button right on my inner arm.
Pretty wild, the way the cold frost materialized on my skin but, let me tell you, it was only cool for a nanosecond before the pain from the resulting frostbite kicked in.
48. The Physical Pain Of Rejection
Once upon a time when I was in fifth grade, I mustered up the courage to ask a girl to be my girlfriend. Unfortunately, she didn't feel the same way and turned me down.
After hearing her response, the most embarrassing thing happened—I spun around and tumbled down a hill, cutting my ankle open on a sharp rock. That incident left a scar which, to this day, serves as a constant reminder of that childhood rejection.
49. For The Love Of Cookies
My mom tells me that the little mark under my lower lip is the result of two separate occasions I had to get stitches. She blames herself though, because my injuries were a result of her not keeping a close enough eye on me.
Both times, it was me climbing onto her sewing machine cover to snatch some cookies from the countertop in our kitchen. Even more astonishing, these two similar incidents happened just a month apart.
50. Wrath Of The Claw
My cat was a bit of a goofball. He was the most relaxed cat, who never really cared for hunting and often ended up stuck on things like fences. Despite his clumsiness, he was extremely handsome. He had this unusual claw that, no matter what we did, always ended up caught on things like pillows, carpets and toys. We found ourselves constantly freeing him from these situations.
So, one day we were playing together, and he managed to swipe my hand with this special claw of his. As he tried, in vain, to pull his claw free, we both started panicking. This tiny incident quickly escalated into a significant scrape on the back of my hand from his claw.
He lived until he was 21 years old, and even now, when I see the back of my hand, a strange, fond memory of that silly cat stirs within me..