One-of-those-things

I'm walking out of my office today and there is a micro-dried particle just on the inside of my right nostril. I had blown my nose about an hour earlier and the missed sector of this boog had dried and begun to agitate me.

As I walked out I slyly, but quickly raised my right hand, and with my thumb did the hooky thing to quickly and efficiently remove said snot. Thinking it was dry and brittle, and would simply crumble from my pulpy digit onto a fellow employee’s desk or something, I twisted and pulled at the same time in the affected area of my nose. What happened next is hard to put pen to paper, but it must be said:

As I whipped my thumb about, the perceptible structure of the crispy booger was only surfaced, not unlike the tip of an iceberg; below this crusty coating lay a small but sinewy sewer if you will of coagulated snott-age that was ripped from its resting place as I pulled and tugged on the brittle boogered crumb.

Remember dear friends, I was walking through the main hallway that is littered with windowed offices chucked full of fellow associates. Initially I thought just a shorty as I tugged, but immediately felt the long and arduous cackle of this mucal mess almost choke the back of my nasal aureole as the heap willingly and frighteningly remained and followed it's tip of horror. Yes, the strand, the muck, the sagging, hanging bellow which now stretched from the innards of my cavitations’- challenged passage caught the attention of most standing and watching out of their office windows.

Looking back now this is not surprising as what appeared to be a long and narrow linguini-esq apparatus dangling from my nose and firmly attached to my fucking thumb and for-finger, swayed with ease as I stared in utter shock at what had happened in the past 3.1/2 seconds. To make matters worse, I instantly tried to take the downward "Slash and Burn" response, believing that simply lowering my hand quickly would erase the humiliation along with the mess being made; but no, only a marked streak of snot snapped up and then down like a boomerang tied to the rock of Gibraltar, landing just as firmly across my upper lip as an anchor and along my dark blue sweater back do to the thumb that started this whole muck of shenanigans.

I freaked. I began looping my boog-finger with its attachment in quick-circle-jerks in a lame attempt to roll the mess onto the finger and do what with it I do not fucking know!!! But as I cruised quickly, red-faced and humiliated to the men’s room, I reached for the door and it was not only locked but now the sticky, brittle end on my hand was loosened and attached itself to the door handle. I whispered "Fuck", not in anger but more in a yelp of awe and fear, and bounced back from the locked door, turned and the snottage unwound itself - as in reverse -- from my body and simply hung there on the door handle waiting to be serviced for it's second act.

All of this transpired within one minute friends, and it is moments like this that allow me to wallow in the gratuitous sunshine of your love, friendship and understanding.

People began to gather and gawk at the spectacle. As I swung in a Pliés type of dance away from the door, which left its mark, I now found myself having to sashay sideways back to the handle and simply sweep the mess onto my right arm, all the while offering a diversion to those that had gathered for the show. I immediately gathered the bound boogsters around my hand and rammed the sticky substance into my pocket and simply walked around the corner to the lower bowels of the building to hide and clean my mess up.

Thanks for listening.