In my previous blog post, I wrote about scarves and their predilection
for choking me.
And since we’re on the topic of things you wear around your
neck…
I have a black, beaded necklace that I like to wear. It’s
professional but pretty, and the beads are large and wrap together in thick
strands up to the clasp. It looked vaguely similar to the necklace in the picture above.
I really should say I HAD a black, beaded necklace that
I liked to wear. Recently, that necklace died in a less-than-subtle fashion.
It exploded.
Maybe it didn’t spontaneously combust into flames, but it
did burst into a shower of beads as I sat innocently at my work desk.
I didn’t play with it, I wasn’t chewing it or tugging at the
threads – I didn’t even touch it. That thing just blew up.
Also, to paint a wonderful mental image for you, the beads went
into every nook and crevice on my person. You’re welcome.
After my initial, “What
the heck just happened?” moment passed, I grabbed the broken strands and tried
to undo the clasp to contain the continuous spillage, but of course, it wouldn’t
budge. For the first time ever, I couldn’t get the necklace off, so I ran to
the bathroom down the hall, a trail of black beads behind me.
I felt like Hansel and Gretel.
Into the bathroom I went, where I leaned over the counter
and tried to aim for the trash can as the beads continued to pour down my back,
my front, onto the countertop, onto the floor…basically, everywhere. There was
nothing I could do to stop the dam.
Naturally, once the beads had finished um, dispersing, I was
suddenly able to undo the necklace clasp without any problems. A couple more
beads fell down my shirt.
And that’s when I finally noticed there was someone in the
middle stall.
Silence. Throughout the entire ordeal, they said nothing to
me. Maybe the door was shut by accident? But no, I saw little shoes underneath.
They were there, and instead of acknowledging the fiasco from the other side,
they pretended not to exist.
Awkward.
Now, I still had a job to do. I needed to loosen my clothes
to get the rest of the beads off my person. The problem was, there are only
three stalls in my work bathroom, so whether I chose the left or right stall,
it made no difference. When I went inside, I was right next to the mystery
person. I tried to be quiet, but as I adjusted my clothes, a flood of beads
fell onto the tiled floor, bouncing off their shoes and legs.
I froze. I gasped, and then I laughed.
Nothing.
I think I saw a slight wiggle of a shoe, but that was it.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
Maybe it was Casper? But it couldn’t be. Casper was a
friendly ghost.
There were beads all over the floor now. I couldn’t clean
them up because I didn’t have a broom. I would have to leave it like this for
the custodial crew that night.
Not. A. Single. Word.
I nervous chuckled once more before slinking out of the
bathroom and escaping to my desk. I never found out who mystery shoes was, but
I’ll give them a 10/10 for awkwardness!
For the rest of the day as I moved about the office, a
random trail of black beads fell out the bottom of my pant legs, like I was a
vending machine with a leak. I pretended not to notice.
I found more beads later that night when I showered. I’m still finding the beads at work, by the
way, even though it’s been more than a month since the “incident”. There’s some
in the carpet by my desk, and they’re nicely dispersed around the corners of
the bathroom.
And although I’ve been paying a lot closer attention to
people’s shoes at work lately, I’ve never found my victim.
Maybe they were a
ghost.
*Image to respective owner
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