Battle Scars

(Ok, I guess I need to explain this post, because I don't think many people "got it."  I used to work in the front office of my kids' school as the Office Administrator.  Recently, I moved to part-time position in the library.  This piece is NOT real - it is fiction, OK? It is satire.  I'm trying to exaggerate and be silly about it.  Ok, so stop wondering what drug I was on when I wrote it!)

Now that I am safe within the confines of the library, I feel that I can begin to divulge some of the challenges I faced on the frontlines of the front office.

Already, my security clearance has been downgraded.  I only have access to the library, the restroom, and the tiny kitchenette that serves as the staff lounge.  Fine by me, since some of the things that I witnessed inside of those other rooms will fuel my nightmares for the rest of my life.

Let me begin with one of the simpler tales.  As I sat at my post, I kept my eye warily on the door.  At any moment, I might be faced with questions that I was unprepared to answer, or even worse, questions that I did not want to answer.  But I kept my cool and continued on my mission to complete as much paperwork as possible within the 480 minutes that I was stationed at my post.

On this particular day, I was faced with the gargantuan task of placing too many confidential documents into a 3-ring-binder.  I reached into the compartment above my desk to retrieve said binder, and as my finger slid against the side of the binder in order to open it, I was stopped by the feeling of my skin splitting open.  This was no ordinary paper cut.  This was a binder cut.

I let out a small squeal and grabbed my finger.  I knew it was bad.  I frantically looked around for some kleenex to stop the bleeding.  (The bleeding that hadn't started yet, but I knew it would any minute.)  I didn't have the courage to look at the wound at first, but I was certain it had cut all the way to the bone.  I couldn't afford to pass out, so I kept the severity of the wound in the back of my head.  I started to realize that even the kleenex wasn't going to do the trick.

Then it dawned on me:  the bandaids!  I had a stash in my desk to hand out to children who occasionally need some comfort for their little scratches.  I yanked the drawer open, fumbled around until I secured a band-aid, and then tore it open so I could use it to pull my gaping pieces of flesh back together.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I managed to close the wound.  I was thankful that I still had my wits about me, and that it hadn't happened to one of my co-workers.  I doubt they would have been able to respond as quickly as I had.

I managed to return to work and finish my assignment, knowing that only a tiny piece of plastic was holding my damaged body together.

I faced that kind of peril every single day in that office.  Now you know why I had to get out.  I had to find a place that was more secure.  I am still in the building, but out of harm's way for the time being.