Him, Her, and The Booger
A short story about a man, a woman, and a booger.
HIM
“You have something in your nose.”
By “something”, she means “booger”. There’s been a booger in my left nostril for the entire world to see, for god knows how long.
The absolute horror.
Even worse, the woman who just told me this is the woman I’ve had a crush on for months.
Okay, years.
We work for the same company — the top pet merchandising company in the United States. She works in the corporate divison; I work in I.T. She’s on the tenth floor (the fun floor); I’m on the fourth (the boring floor).
She’s hardly aware of my existence. We’ve interacted only twice prior to this life altering moment. The first time was in the office cafeteria when I said, “Hello.”
“Good morning,” she replied before she was gone in a flash.
The second time was in the elevator. I got in. We stood awkwardly as the elevator made its way down for what felt like an eternity. “This might be the slowest elevator ever, haha,” was what I was able to barely squeak out before — DING! — we reached the lobby floor.
“Haha, yeah,” she said and darted out through the still opening elevator doors. It was as if she’d rather have been anywhere else in the world than in the general vicinity of me.
So here I am, in front of my crush — and possibly the woman of my dreams — with a big, fat booger hanging out of my nose. In this very moment, I’m the ugliest person on the face of the planet. Maybe even the universe.
This booger will ruin me.
This booger will destroy any chance I have at finding love. This booger will show up in the middle of an interview for my dream job and they won’t offer me the job due solely to the large, coal sized booger sticking out of my left nostril. I won’t be able to get a mortgage because of this booger. I’ll lose all of my friends because of this booger. I’ll be forced into hiding and become a recluse because of this booger.
This booger will ruin me.
But wait...
Maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong.
Maybe she feels so naturally comfortable around me that she thought it wouldn’t be that big of a deal to bring up the nasty boogie hanging out of my nose like a chimpanzee dangling from a tree branch.
Maybe I will find love. Maybe I will get that dream job. And start a family. And make new friends. And get a mortgage. And get into politics! I’ve always thought about a life in politics.
Maybe this booger is a sign people actually like me.
Maybe this booger is a beacon of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, this crusty, revolting booger will save me.
HER
I fucking hate my job.
I don’t even like pets. Never have. I had a goldfish when I was six. It died within two days. I didn’t feel a thing.
I keep climbing the corporate ladder, expecting to find some sort of satisfaction and happiness as I near the top. But nope. Nothing. The only hint of satisfaction and happiness I feel is on “Cake Day” at the end of each month.
My life is nothing but meetings and phone calls, meetings and phone calls, until I die, which I hope happens sooner rather than later. I’m not suicidal. It’s just that if I happened to unexpectedly die tomorrow, I wouldn’t be *that* mad about it.
Sure, I know life can be beautiful. It just hasn’t been beautiful for me yet. It hasn’t even been mildly attractive. I’ve been on autopilot from the moment I was born. I never played sports, never had any hobbies or passions, never had any close friends. I just existed. And I was pretty okay with that. But then I woke up one morning -- more specifically the morning of my 40th birthday -- and felt completely empty. Not “suicidal” empty. More “hollow rock that spends eternity in a vast desert” empty. Untouched. Unloved. Useless. But still there. Existing. Feeling nothing at all.
I can already hear it -- Oh my god, your life can’t be that bad. And you’re probably right. It’s all about perspective. So why don’t I give you some perspective.
6:30am - Wake up. Feel depressed.
6:31am - Doomscroll Instagram and Twitter.
7am - Realize I shouldn’t have doomscrolled Instagram and Twitter for half an hour because now I’m going to be late. Feel depressed.
7:05am - Shower.
7:20am - Eat a tasteless yogurt parfait.
7:30am - Drive to work. Listen to a podcast about water sanitation.
8am - Arrive at work. Feel depressed.
8:05am - Late to the first meeting of the day. Meeting about decreasing cat toy sales.
9am - Next meeting. About marketing campaign for new, state of the art hamster cages.
10am - Calls to major U.S. retailers about... something. I can’t remember.
11am - Sit in my office and doomscroll social media. Feel depressed.
12pm - Grab lunch from a Mediterranean food truck out front. Briefly spoke to a guy from I.T. who had a gnarly booger sticking out of his nose. Mediterranean food was halfway decent.
1pm - Work on sales grids. Feel depressed.
3pm - Last meeting of the day. About projected dog food sales for final quarter.
4pm - Drive home. Finish podcast on water sanitation. Did you know 60% of Ethiopia lacks basic access to drinking water? But I’m supposed to be worried about how many turtle tanks we sell next year. We live in a sick, twisted world.
4:30pm - Drink a vodka soda. Double. Watch the local news.
5pm - Heat up and eat frozen pizza while watching the local news.
6pm - Drink another vodka soda. Single this time. I like to be responsible on weekdays. Doomscroll social media. Feel depressed.
7pm - Watch a documentary about some Midwest cult. Not my favorite cult if I’m being honest. One more vodka soda.
9pm - Brush teeth. Do stupid, tedious skincare routine even though nothing will stop the natural process of aging and my wrinkles will continue to expand and grow.
9:30pm - Lay in bed feeling depressed before falling asleep.
See? Dreadful. And I do this everyday. Do I notice a few common denominators within my day that I could cut out and thus find some semblance of happiness? Sure. But who can really survive life without doomscrolling social media ten times a day?
Maybe I was born to be miserable and alone. Maybe that’s the role I was meant to fill. This world needs miserable, lonely people so that non-miserable, non-lonely people can point at us and say to their children, “Hey, look, do you want to end up like that miserable, lonely person drinking her third vodka soda on a Tuesday night?” Maybe I should just accept my sad destiny and move on.
But wait...
Maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong.
Maybe I should get a drink with that I.T. guy with the massive booger. He was kinda cute.
THE BOOGER
I want to be a star.
I’ve wanted to be a star from the moment I was born 12 hours ago. I’ve always been the one to entertain my family, friends, and classmates. I was the “class clown”, the “goofball”, the “funny one”. Not to mention I was voted “Most Likely To Be a Movie Star” by my entire high school’s senior class.
I want to be a star. And my time to shine has finally arrived.
I’ve been sticking out of this guy’s nose for more than an hour. And nearly everyone has noticed.
I’m a goddamn star! It’s finally happened! Oh how proud my parents would be. From just a tiny little drop of mucus — given a 50/50 chance to survive — to a strong, thick, compact, yellowish, brownish booger; from a hyperactive child with a vivid imagination, to a confident thespian with multiple movie offers on the horizon. I wish they could see how far I’ve come.
Unfortunately, my parents tragically passed away almost 24 hours ago. Has it really been that long? I still remember the moment they were so casually picked and flicked out of the window of this guy’s 2002 Subaru Outback. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
And then, suddenly, I heard her say it. My career achievement and my death sentence all at once.
“You have something in your nose.”
I was euphoric. But it was so much more than that. To finally be recognized in a world full of talented boogers... words can’t do the feeling justice. I cheered. I laughed. I cried. My life’s work had finally been recognized and validated. And even though my parents weren’t here to enjoy the moment with me, I knew they’d want me to be the happiest I could be. And I was.
That is until the man — my callous, thoughtless host — started walking full speed to the bathroom. I hardly had any time to register what was happening before I saw his gangly finger coming right at me.
This was the end.
The questions came flooding into my booger brain like a powerful nasal spray. Did my success mean anything? Was it worth all the suffering and tragedy I had to endure? Was there even a point to my life?
I felt empty and hopeless as his finger got closer and closer.
But wait...
Maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong.
I got to do what I love for a living. How many people get to say that? I got to see the audience’s reactions of disgust and hushed laughter. I made them feel something. I got to experience life! All of its beauty and sadness. All of its pain and laughter.
And who knows, maybe the interaction between this man and that woman will be the start of true love. Maybe I’m more than just a booger. More than an entertainer. Maybe I’m a modern day Cupid!
The man’s finger viciously picked and grabbed at me until I was out of his nose. He held me up in the air for a brief moment and I stared into the bathroom mirror. I could hardly recognize myself.
He flicked me onto a toilet seat where I would dry out, wither, and die within two hours.
Haha 10/10