If you’ve ever worked in a restaurant, or even spent significant time in one, then you know that the swinging kitchen door may well be more dangerous than the ovens and stovetops. This is particularly true when the swinging door is being kicked open–which is most often the case, as stuff must be hauled in and out of kitchens frequently. What nincompoop decided that these heavy, often precariously hinged doors needed only a tiny porthole-sized window in them? And what of short people, or tall people, for whom the window is not at eye level?
So the long and short of it is that I have been assaulted by one of these doors, which was assisted significantly by a healthy kick from a coworker, and now I have a bit of a black eye. It’s not a total shiner–not really noticeable unless it’s mentioned–but it does look, when I raise my eyebrow, as though I’m wearing eggshell-purple eye shadow, which I would never do. Last night, there was a knot on the side of my brow bone (the point of impact, and, ahem, OW) that stuck out like a bone spur and made me look a bit like I had a baby horn growing, but thankfully, that disappeared in the night and was replaced with a plum-colored sensitive spot right at the crease of my eye which looks like I’ve badly applied a really awful shade of eyeliner.
But really, I don’t care how it looks. It’s fucking annoying. I keep rubbing my eye and accidentally inflicting sharp pains on myself, and it’s still swollen enough that I can see it in my peripheral vision, which is a bit invasive. It’s tight-feeling, and I want to close my eye, which is really not hoping in the quest to accomplish a truly epic amount of homework.
Someday perhaps I will make peace with inanimate objects, and they will stop violently attacking me, but this latest is evidence in my mind that it will not happen soon. Somebody’s not done laughing at me yet.