Bleach Bum

Occasionally, something can happen in the briefest moment that changes things forever. We all know this, but I think we like to keep it in the back of our minds as much as possible. It’s a lot to carry around.

And, occasionally, these things that happen don’t even have an immediate effect. Sometimes, for a brief time afterward, everything seems exactly the same. Exactly the same. Except you’ve seen it happen, and you know it is impossible to undo, and it is only a matter of time before the unalterable effects are felt.

Have I lost you?

Imagine a really sharp knife and you’re slicing tomatoes with it and suddenly you slice your finger instead. You feel the keen blade ease through your flesh and you know you’ve been cut and there’s nothing you can do to undo that. The consequences must be lived with, that’s all. You stand and stare at your finger and you feel around inside of your head for signs of this minor catastrophe. But there’s nothing to see on your finger, nothing to feel along your nerve endings. It’s just too soon and the blade was just too sharp. Soon there will be some pain and there will be some blood. But for now, only these three things apply 1) The deed is done. 2) There is no way it can now be undone and 3) There is no earthly sign yet of the damage that has been caused.

The cut finger thing is not a particularly good example of what I’m talking about, for one obvious reason. The cut finger will heal in a little bit of time. The effect will be dulled and forgotten. The things I’m thinking about will meet all three of the criteria above, but the effects will also last forever.

I had one of these these on Friday.

And you’re going to think I’m a right eejit now because what happened to me was miniscule and irrelevant and silly and completely unimportant. All of that, yes. But it also ticked the four boxes I mentioned above.

So, what happened Ken?

Well (thanks for asking) I spilled some bleach on my jeans.

I was in the men’s facilities in my office, and I decided I’d give the place a little spruce up. This was a mistake from the start because I am famously careless with bottles of bleach. Quite a lot of my clothes sport those tiny giveaway marks that one inherits from reckless bleach play.

This time was worse than a spot though. Two things were portentous. I had a large new bottle of lemon-flavoured bleach (I know ‘flavoured’ is wrong) and I was wearing my nice black Levi 501’s. Not a good start. I commenced to chucking the bleach around the place, knowing that I was living a bit dangerously. But I became altogether too cavalier with my actions. While withdrawing the slightly upended bottle from an errant toilet bowl, a vast gob of lemony goodness left the bottle and landed on my right leg, just below the knee.

The moment this happened, items 1), 2) and 3) from my little checklist came simultaneously into play. I grabbed a wad of tissue from a nearby roll and swiped the errant blob from my trouser leg. But it was too late, wasn’t it? In a thrice, the deed was done and, although there was no sign yet of the damage that had been done, it was now written in history and completely unalterable.

I dabbed and dabbed with my toilet roll but slowly, inexorably, the fallout manifested itself. The inevitable terracotta-coloured swipe of the bleach, punctuated by several dots above and below the main (enormous) stain.

As I said, this is triviality, a nothingness in the vast scheme of things. But, on Friday morning, it was nearly the proverbial straw that broke the proverbial camel’s proverbial back. I rallied. I gave myself a good solid talking-to and berated myself as the fool and the gobshite I assuredly am. So now all I am left with are these slightly sombre thoughts about the more awful things that can unalterably alter our lives at the drop of a hat.

That, and one ruined pair of jeans.

2 comments:

Jules said...

I had a recent similar experience with a hedge strimmer. I tested it to make sure it was plugged in properly and severed the power cable. Some days I suspect my neighbours think I have Tourette's...

Jim Murdoch said...

My take from all this was: You own a pair of Levis! I cannot remember the last time I bought a pair of brand named jeans but I suspect it was my second pair of Brutus Gold circa 1979. The pair I own currently probably cost ten quid (okay, maybe twenty, what do I know?) and are easily twenty years old. In fact, discounting the t-shirts I often get as Christmas pressies, most of my wardrobe is over twenty years old. I just don't seem to wear out clothes the way I used to. I've never been a… what would the word be?… a clothey and I lost all interest in fashion the day I left school. Clothes were functional. I didn't want to be noticed. And that was why I was somewhat fashion conscious at school because not dressing the same as everyone else drew attention to you and I preferred to blend in. Still do. Loved the Harrington when it was popular, mind. The black one with the Fraser tartan. Dead cool.

As far as bleach goes… I'm sorry, I have no witty bleach stories in my repetoire. Not a one.