Ok, my first story is pretty gross.
Back when I was still working in a particular grooming shop, I used to go to the Tim Hortons in the same strip mall for lunch frequently. I'd get a sandwich and come back to work. The shop owner's daughter had an Amazon parrot she used to bring to the shop sometimes. He'd walk along the divider between the professional side and DIY side, high enough that most of the dogs in the shop never even noticed he was there. One day I went to grab my sandwich and noticed a smear on the wrapper. Thinking it was just excess sauce from my sandwich, I scooped it up with my finger and licked it off. About a split second later, I realised it was bird poo. Needless to say, I rather lost my appetite after that.
My "ohnosecond" was when I was actually WORKING at Tim Hortons when I was about 17 or so. The bagels came pre-cooked but frozen, loose in boxes which we kept in the walk-in freezer. When I was on sandwich counter, it was part of my job to make sure warm bagels stayed stocked so I'd have to go into the freezer, get whatever kind of bagels we were low on, and put them in the oven to reheat. The freezer shelves had just enough space between them to store the boxes, but not open the tops, a problem we solved by just cutting a v-shaped hole in the box fronts so we could just reach in and grab what we needed. I was doing just this, cutting a V in the front of a box with a box cutter, the knife in my right hand and using my left hand to keep the box from sliding off the shelf. The knife was sort of dull-ish, you see, and was not a typical box cutter but more like a lino cutter, hooked like a cat's claw. It kept getting stuck and it was REALLY effin cold in the freezer and I was rapidly losing my patience with the dang knife. It would get stuck, I would yank it out, work it back in and keep cutting, getting closer and closer to my left hand, still bracing the box. One yank of the knife too many; I knew this time as soon as I yanked on the knife that I was going to cut myself, but it was too late to stop. Sure enough, I opened a gash on the inside of my left wrist, wide enough that I got a shockingly good look at the tendons in my wrist.
I immediately dropped the knife, covered the wound with my free hand and ran out of the freezer to find my supervisor. She had our delivery guy run me to the doctor for stitches (8 in total) but in the meantime, of course my co-workers were wondering why I'd suddenly vanished and asked the supervisor, who added insult to injury by telling everyone, "GEH slit her wrist in the freezer!" prompting a wildfire of rumours that I had tried to commit suicide in the walk-in freezer.