splattered.

An evening not too long ago, I was standing on a polished and waxed white linoleum floor, near an array or colors in the form of cosmetics. I stood there at midnight twirling a bottle of bright orange fingernail polish between my unpolished fingers. To picture this color, picture the sun at its brightest spot of the day, or the vests worn by road worked to avert being hit by a vehicle speeding down the highway. 

There was a People Magazine staring at me, providing me with more information into the life of a stranger than I should have been privy. Perhaps this added to an already present sense of nervousness, amplified by an unnatural glow emitting from the floor. 

One, twirl; two, twirl; three, slipping from my grasp; four, yikes! dropping!; five, dropping still!; six, crash. Seven: Neon orange fingernail polish spilled and splattered all over the glossy shiny reflecting revolting linoleum floor. Eight: Me, feeling like such a clumsy and careless fool.

Thankfully, the lady working, who didn't really have the time to deal with my clumsy and careless mess, was so very kind and gracious. She assured me it was no trouble, calming my angst with the ease of a seasoned kindergarten teacher. In the midst of the disaster, the two of us looked up at a woman running back in, searching for a phone and yelling something about a "crash at the intersection" and "911".

It's a dangerous and confusing intersection. There are four lanes, and also signs cautioning no left turn. All of the entrances to all of the businesses around the intersection are extremely awkward to access. And at midnight that evening, someone crashed into someone else. I don't know the specifics of the crash, but in the moment when I was feeling like such a fool, I realized that my crashing bottle of bright orange polish paled in comparison. A little splatter of orange isn't such a big deal when thinking about life. I thanked the lady for her kindness, and carefully drove myself home.