I went down to Columbus to help lay a laminate floor, given my expertise in such areas. I introduced the guy I was helping to a new tool I received as an early Christmas present.
"Hey, look at this ... a Roto-Zip. Pretty cool. It has a diamond cutting wheel I'll hook up," I said, putting an attachment on the power unit (It's always more official-sounding and expert-sounding when the word "unit" is used; and the more it is used the better.)
"You're not going to use that, are you?" the guy asked.
I was there helping him; and here he was, being kind of like a prick. "What does that mean?" I asked him in a rather cool tone. After all, this was my Roto-Zip with the fancy black bag and all kinds of attachments. It was a very nice unit.
Then he said, "You'll cut finger off, Dad," like I had ever hurt myself with power tools before. Okay, okay, there was the time with the grinder when I ground a huge chunk out of my thigh; but there was hardly any bleeding at all, what with the cauterizing power of modern, high-speed grinding wheels. How long does something like that have to follow a guy around. Well, there was the staple gun incident, but the alignment arrows were confusing; so I missed and hit my hand. It didn't go in that deep. The pliers worked. And ... well, enough of this crap. I don't need to hear about it anymore.
At the conclusion of our evening, I left with all my fingers and all my toes. So there. You, gentle reader, can take away from my trip two valuable lessons, however.