Sunday, June 19

My most embarassing hospital story*.

*Yes, more embarassing than that time I was confused by the doctor's definition of "clean yourself" when handed an alcohol wipe.

Really, I was planning on selling sheets and folding bedding all afternoon.

I had just shown up to work and was explaining the difference between coverletts and quilts to a elderly couple when my right eye started to water. I figured something was caught in it, but when I rubbed it I was overcome with eye pain. The feeling that an eyelash was caught in it or something. I had to excuse myself from the customers (who wants to find out about coverlett coverage from a girl who can't stop rubbing her now-makeup covered face?) and ran to the washroom.

Nothing was in my eye, I wasn't even wearing my contacts, and I couldn't stop blinking because it felt like my eyeball was being stabbed constantly by some unknown source. I didn't know what else to do and so I went to the hospital.

And I sat in the waiting room for four hours, reading VICE with my good eye, ignoring the woman coughing who chose to take off her anti-SARS mask, and feeling bad (but not that bad) for the teenage boy with the bloody head injury who kept checking me out from across the room.

The doctor scolded me for sleeping in my contacts so frequently, and claimed this to be the source of my pain. I rolled my eye at her and figured I had scratched my cornea. Then she fliped my eyelid Clockwork Orange style and saw a tiny piece of mascara lodged in it.

Yes. I skipped out of work and spent the afternoon in Emerg simply due to a makeup malfunction. I think I need a better cover story though. Maybe if I blame the irritant on a rouge piece of cheap 180-thread count dust I can get worker's comp. Maybe.