The other week I had a moment where I went to rub my nose only to feel a thin, hardened line of confusion dancing across the weird protruding part of my nose or “tip” as ones who are more versed in human anatomy call it.

A crusted booger. No doubt about it.

As it was mid afternoon and I had been talking to people all day, it goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyways, I was concerned. I had interacted with humans just enough to cause extreme embarrassment should the foreign substance prove itself to be a booger. Like, cracking jokes and offering useless contributions in meetings that one must share in order to be considered a valued member of the team interactions. Professional interactions that would be remembered and brought up in my quarterly reviews!

At this point, my main concern should have been on fleeing to the nearest bathroom to assess the situation and begin modifying a toilet paper roll into a dagger to slit my wrists and bleed out in a public stall as that seemed to be the only logical solution.

I continued to sit at my desk.

I imagined what the booger looked like strewn across my face like a bug on a windshield. It was likely light in hue to reflect my clean sinuses, thin so as to coyly draw the eye to the embarrassing disfigurement without being too demanding and long draping right in between the nostrils just as a nice “fuck you!” to me.

Who had seen it? Did anyone think differently of me now? Was there an email chain going around with everyone remarking on how complacent I must be in my life to just allow such madness to rule my face? What if I was actually being admired for my fearlessness? No. People don’t email to speak positively of each other.

I should start looking for a new life. Somewhere cold where people consistently have frozen boogers dangling from their nose and smeared across their faces. There’s no judgement there because everyone is walking around looking like a newborn in need of a nasal aspirator. I think they call that place Canada. Yes, Canada would be my new home. I imagine crystallized boogers are currency there.

“Will that be cash, credit, or crystallized mucus?” they’ll ask as I slide my finished bowl of poutine away from my bloated belly.

“Cash, please. These mucii are green gold!”

Yes. Canada. I began memorizing the Canadian National Anthem and learning what a prime minister does. It was actually quite refreshing to finally have some direction in my life.

I imagined my family and friend (singular. I only have one) would miss me, but I was only in Canada, the crouching camel on top of the United States, as I’m sure at least one other person has called it.

With modern technology, my family and friend could reach out at any time. Although, they would have to grow used to the frozen boogers extending from my nostrils during video chats.

“Dear, do you need to blow your nose? It seems you have a little something there.”

“No, mother. I’m good. God! You just don’t understand fashion!”

I wonder if they would leave little tan lines on my face in the summer? I imagine they never go away no matter how warm or even if I’m indoors.

Maybe I should try to smear more boogers on my face? I wouldn’t want to be left out in my new home, after all. No, I can’t come on strong like that again. Not after that summer of ’16. Too much too soon.

With all of this thinking, I realized I hadn’t relieved myself in nearly 5 hours. Something about that struck me as unhealthy so I walked to the restroom filled with mirrors, where I could no longer avoid the inevitable. It was time to wash my hands and assess the nooger (nose booger, but now that I write that word out, it seems racially insensitive). How bad was the damage? Would I be able to even look my own self in the nostril? Did the stream of booger have some blood in it? Was it a member of the Bloods?

Turns out it was a scratch.