Last Friday, I attended a symposium at the Museum of Art regarding some American art.
I had also developed a cold that caused me to create a truly terrific amount of snot. Naturally, being the smart, clever girl that I am, I stuck a handful of tissues in my coat and headed off to my symposium. When I arrived at the MoA, I checked my bag and coat, ate some breakfast, and entered the symposium to hear the keynote address.
It was only at this point that I realized that my handy stock of tissues was upstairs. In my coat. Checked in a locked closet.
I tried to remedy the situation by just sniffling through the address, but it wasn’t too long before snot was literally running from my nose, no matter my great sniffing powers. There was just too much there. It was coming out. It wouldn’t be restrained.
I couldn’t leave without being incredibly rude. The room was relatively small, not full, and the doors were all at the front by the speaker. Not to mention the fact that there were two girls between me and the aisle to the exit that I would have to step over, and possibly dribble snot on. I hate stepping over people.
I could either wipe snot on my jacket, or pull paper from my notebook and try to preserve some mucusy dignity. I opted for ripping paper from my notebook. As soon as I ripped a page out and tried to discretely wipe my poor nose, the two girls sitting next to me started giving me some real stink-eyes.
Excuse me, ladies, I’m dripping snot with no option for exit and no tissues. I think they would have preferred that I find some magical control for my olfactory system rather than subject them to somebody wiping their nose with paper, for goodness sake.
As soon as the keynote was finished, the two girls scurried away from snot-dripping-pariah’s side and didn’t return for the next session.
In retrospect, I think I should have dribbled snot over their laps after all.