Safety First!

To my Serbian readers - I am sorry - but I just had to snap a picture when I saw this handyman getting to work on a busy Belgrade sidewalk. I know that this is a scene you see every day, and it would never cause you to look twice. 

I looked twice. 

My mouth gaped. 

My eyes bulged.

I instinctively avoided the flying sparks, 

and walked to the other side of the street. . . 

(. . but then I doubled back and got as close as I dared to snap this picture)

I watched sparks hit the rear of the white car seen in this picture. 

What about the people at the cafe not two meters away from his "construction project?"

Would the sparks catch someones hair on fire?

Everything inside of me wanted to scream: 

"STOP IMMEDIATELY YOU WILL HURT YOURSELF OR SOMEONE ELSE AND THEN YOU'LL BE SUED!"  

Where were his ear plugs, eye protection, gloves, and steel-toed-boots?!? 

I wanted to throw a bag of safety items at him. 

If only I had 'said' safety bag with me. 

Now, before you think that I am totally off my rocker. . . 

. . . there is a reason for my exaggerated reaction. 

I promise.

Before Chris and I moved to Serbia, I worked for a municipal insurance company in the States. If it explains anything, I worked mostly in the Loss Control Department. In fact, I had a large amount of grant money each year that was specifically used to purchase safety items. For about six months of every year, I worked, ate, played and dreamt "safety." If a city needed reflective clothing for its workers, specific boots for winter, or Tasers for police, I was their girl. I loved my job and I thoroughly enjoyed our safety program. After all, I helped keep people safe, and the trade out was that my company paid out less in insurance claims. 

The negative side was that due to my job responsibilities, I started noticing safety "issues" everywhere. Chris could not stand on a chair to fix a light bulb without a nagging, "get down, you'll fall and break your neck. Slips, trips, and falls are our worst claims!" If I noticed a teen driver texting in the car next to me, I glared until I got his/her attention and I furiously pointed at the "no texting while driving" sticker on my windshield. 

Yup, I became that girl. 

I guess moving to Serbia has not erased my ingrained sense of safety. 

At least I only thought about harassing this man on the busy Belgrade street. 

I did not act on my urge. 

Can you imagine me as a mother?! I sure can't.

I might be a paranoid (but safe) mess of a mother.