When I was in my twenties, I was washing a glass by using a washcloth. I stuffed my hand into the glass and swished it around until it was clean.
That evening the glass shattered and cut into my little finger, all the way to the bone. Blood spurt out in a beautiful arc over three feet into the room. In fact, there was a LOT of blood. I had cut an artery.
I grabbed some paper towels and stuffed then into the wound and held the finger tightly to clamp the artery, then called 911. In the 10 minutes or so it took them to get there, I started to feel woozy and light headed. I was losing a lot of blood. It amazed me that THAT much blood could come out of a cut on a finger.
You know how when you go to the ER usually you wind up sitting on the couch, thinking you are dying or something and cursing the doctors for not understanding? Well, this time the nurse took one look and I was in with a doctor in under two minutes.
The doctor sewed up my finger and sent me home. I never felt a thing. The glass had severed the nerve to the finger. I still do not have any feeling in a small patch where the cut happened.
When I got home I went into my apartment, without turning on the lights, and noticed the floor seemed strange. It looked like it was moving, rippling or something. In fact, the floor looked like it was alive.
I turned on the lights and, well, the floor was indeed alive. It was covered with hundreds of thousands of ants. Little black ants.
I guess ants like blood.
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night in a hotel and called the landlord first thing in the morning to take care of the ants.
That was not a good day.