Next Time The Blood Won’t Be Yours

, , , , | Right | January 17, 2018

(I work as a housekeeper. I am cleaning a hospital. They have older automatic doors, which are only activated from one side. I am kneeling, cleaning the bottom side of the door. A visitor in his twenties hits the button — usually people who do not need to use the automatic doors do so, anyway. The door does not register me because I am on the wrong side. The door swings open in a jerking motion and hits me right in the nose. I fall back, holding my bleeding nose. The man walks by me with two other men. He lowers his sunglasses.)

Visitor: “Once you are done here, you can come and clean my house.”

(If you ever see a housekeeper, never say that. We hear it at least twenty times a day. I hold my nose and wait for them to slowly walk through so I can grab paper towels for my nose. When they leave, I am re-cleaning the glass doors, and the same visitor runs up to hit the button. Luckily, I hear him and jump out of the way.)

Visitor: “You can smile every once in a while.”

(I fake-smiled and waved as they left. Lucky for me I never saw them again.)

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