I Bleed a Lot

I'm pretty clumsy. Not in the I-fall-down-constantly way, although that is rather frequent, but more so in the I-bleed-a-lot way. The other night while at Broadway pizza, I managed to cut open my finger while picking up my rather unsharp knife.

Only I would bleed while at dinner.

Back in college, I worked at the bookstore WaldenBooks. Since I was the key holder, I'd manage the store alone while my boss was out, or on one of her seven hour smoke breaks. Or, more specifically for this story, when she was interviewing people for open positions.

She was in the back room office talking to Patrick, a guy in his late 20's with light hair and light eyes. I was in the front of the store mostly alone, aside for the three or so people drifting around the shelves. It was 3:00 on a Tuesday, so the mall wasn't incredibly busy.

When new magazines came in, it was my job to get rid of all the old ones. I'd rip their covers off to later send back to the publisher and then put the rest of the magazine inside a box, which was later trashed. I was working on a pile of PEOPLE magazines when I got my weekly paper cut. A small bulb of blood grew on my index finger, so I ran to the back room to wash it. Passing the office, I noticed Patrick and my boss Susanna conversing like normal. Susanna looked up as I passed, but I just pointed to the bathroom.

Back on the main floor, I was working on a stack of "naughty magazines," so to say. With them, we'd have to open the plastic packaging first before ripping off the cover. To save time, I typically used a box cutter and cut the entire front off. While doing that, of course I cut my finger. Sliced off a small part of the tip.

My manager looked up again, a bit perplexed, when I ran past her towards the bathroom. That time, the blood didn't stop easily, so I made a makeshift band-aid out of a paper towel and scotch tape. I waved to her as I made my way back into the store.

Three boxes of new magazines were on the counter. I was squatting under the counter, organizing additional magazines, when I reached up to grab one of the boxes. Looking up at it, I noticed that it was heavier than I thought. And also wobbly. I lost my grip and it fell quickly onto my chest. I caught it in time, so it didn't knock me over, but the corner of the box scratched my throat during the fall. I felt my neck and realized that something wet was on it. Blood, of course.

That time when I ran into the back room, not five minutes after the last time (the interview was roughtly 20 minutes), Susanna finally pipped up.

"What is going on out there?"

I showed her my finger and my band-aid. I showed her my throat and the original paper cut. She just shook her head and laughed.

"You're a mess."

At 5:00 my friend Cassie came to pick me up. Still in the mall, we wandered two stores down for our day's mission: I was getting my ears pierced. I had them pierced as a kid, but from having earrings out so often for circus (and having skin that heals incredibly fast), they closed up. Before entering the store, I described my bloody day to Cassie. She, like my manager, laughed at me.

Inside Claire's Accessories, I grabbed the stool I was sitting on as the girl, roughly 18 with huge pink hoops and florescent pink and yellow hair, pierced my ears. When it was all over, I felt my hot ears and tiny silver earrings.

There wasn't one spot of blood.