My goodness, I have such a graduation story to tell you! It has everything: action, drama, ugly robes, copious hugs, celebrities, public speaking, a trip to the ER …
Obviously, then, it’s going to take me a while to write out such a saga. Bear with me. It’s a long story.
I’ll be publishing it in parts. Both for my sanity and yours.
Act I. Prequel
About a month ago, I broke the overhead light fixture in the bathroom in the house I’m renting (with three housemates) from a former UMM professor. This was bad for three reasons:
1. I’m renting the house. And the former UMM professor is currently trying to sell the house. And a bare lightbulb in the bathroom looks kind of sad.
2. I’m renting the house. And that means I put down a deposit when I moved in to ensure that if I broke or otherwise damaged any part of the house, my landperson could keep the deposit and use it to pay for repairs. The light I broke may not have been very expensive (not that I know much about lighting beyond my enjoyment of that glowing section of Menards), but it was probably enough to justify my landperson keeping my deposit.
3. The light fixture I broke (not the actual bulb, but the globe that fit over it) was made of glass, which is sharp, hard to see, and generally dangerous.
Knowing this, I swept thoroughly. I made sure to get the corners, the sink (where the light initially landed and shattered to almost cinematic effect), the tub, even out in the hallway, where I suspected small pieces had flown and were lurking. Throughout the next week, I swept a few more times, and picked up tiny individual pieces that I had missed. But by the week after that, I had mostly forgotten about the incident. There were no more random glitters as I brushed my teeth, no more ominous crunches underfoot.
Act II. Or So I Thought
It was the morning of Commencement. I had slept fairly well the night before, due to the NyQuil I was still allowed to take because of a lingering cold. I was mostly concerned with not thinking about my impending speech, and so I showered, washed my face, and brushed my teeth with almost zombie-like coolness. On the way out of the bathroom, I took the same route as usual: I stepped over the threshold and turned immediately left, then left again around the low-walled stairwell, and then turned right into my bedroom. Somewhere along that route–I suspect not far from the bathroom–I felt a sudden stinging in the bottom of my left foot. I thought, as had happened before, that a small piece of gravel, tracked in from outside, was stuck to my foot, pressing its sharpness against it. When I looked, I didn’t see anything but a small cut, which was bleeding profusely. Strangely, that part of my foot hurt a lot when I put weight on it, which was what initially led me to suspect that there was something in my foot. I was running a little late, and so didn’t have time to do much besides apply a band-aid and note with satisfaction that my fancy graduation sandals forced me to walk on the middle/inside of my feet instead of on the outside, where the wound was.