I pricked a finger on a microscopic shard of that glass while cleaning my kitchen yesterday. A bloodbath ensued and my least favorite towel was sacrificed for the cause, serving as a tourniquet until I could control the gushing gash with a band-aid.
When I took off a glove to pay for some housewares later in the day, the band-aid peeled off with it. As I reviewed the receipt on my way out, the piece of white paper began to turn red. Tourniquet #2.
I went into the drugstore across the street for more band-aids. A multi-page sale flyer was folded up on a shelf in the First Aid aisle. Tourniquet #3.
Although I can make a scene while waiting for a train that’s running 10 minutes behind schedule, when there’s a legitimately panic-worthy, but concealable, emergency/budding scandal on my hands (pun not originally intended), nobody else would be able to tell that something’s wrong.
I used all of my good hand, and one finger of my bad hand, to open a box of band-aids and replace the flyer with one of them – a delicate balancing act, designed to avoid getting anything on store property and having to face a “you bleed on it, you buy it” policy - before lining up to check out.
This whole time, the store’s pharmacy was closed. At 5:30 p.m. In the City That Seems to Get More Sleep Than I Do.