Workplace Hazards

I used to work in an industry that could have been considered, at times, dangerous. Locations included filthy back alleys in Chinatown, filthy abandoned factories in Hamilton, active construction sites, roads with live traffic, and one particularly memorable biodegrading house that should have been condemned (Rumour had it that it was condemned and we were there anyway). Long hours meant sleep-deprived clumsiness and carelessness was high. Heavy equipment all around, and safety usually being monitored by a guy who would look at home operating the Tilt-A-Whirl in the parking-lot fun fair of your local strip mall, or begging for change outside the LCBO (In fact, I once mistook a fellow film crewmember for a homeless person. It was a shock. I was all, "Why does that homeless dude strolling down Jarvis at 5:30 a.m. look soooo familiar? Oh -- I've worked with him! We've, like, had lunch together.") And yet, in all this unmonitored, heavily equipped, trip-overable-cableness, I only ever had one head-bumping that, although embarrassing and mildly painful, I believe endeared me to my crew more than anything else.
In addition, I worked in a butcher shop every Saturday for nearly seven years, and never once, NEVER, cut myself on any of the wicked sharp knives, even when I had to catch one as it fell off the chopping board (letting one of those finely-honed knives fall on the ground is a bad, bad thing). Sure, there was one painful incident involving a pointy lamb bone, but otherwise I remained unscathed.
It would seem that my unsafe-workplace-safety record is now upended by a seemingly innocuous source that makes me afraid to pick up my next manuscript. Papercuts. Dratted annoying, painful, slow-to-heal, and easy-to-get papercuts. On my fingers, my palm, my wrist, the back of my hand. I can't wait to see where I manage to get my next one. I now handle manuscripts more carefully than any of the worth-the-price-of-a-beemer camera equipment I used to deal with.
All I have to say is: Ow.