The Nose Wax Chronicles
Been at work for an hour and a half today and I'm already bored out
of my mind. Perhaps I should be astonished that filling out a ten-page
survey on my participation in and opinion of the company's evaluation
procedures isn't the fat sack of amusement that Jim (office mgr.) assured
us it would be. Must find amusement. Snack? Porn? Perhaps the day has
come to dust my jaunty collection of Star Wars Legos.
I settled on the old standby: finding new ways to use office supplies
as impromptu fashion accouterments. I was removing the scotch tape
from my nose and examining the imprint left thereon for insight
into my future and/or personality when something occurred to me. I
always have nose wax. It doesn't matter when I've showered
or what the weather is. Nose wax is always with me, like a guardian
angel, only infinitely less likely to save me from drowning.
My course is clear. I must clear my nose of nose wax. Luckily I got
a new tape roll last week.
Ten strips later, and I am still apparently a major nose wax production
center. I don't get it. My nose is tingly.
I reached my thirtieth strip, which still had plenty of impressionistic
nose wax speckles on it, and my nose was really starting to throb,
so I felt it, to see if it was any smoother. Fool! Imbecile! Now there's
finger oil mixed in with what might well have been the final layer of nose
wax. Who knows how far back this sets me? I must persevere. For science.
For those who will come after.
I had reached my fiftieth wax-adorned tape strip and was taking a breather
when an office meeting was called. I got a look at myself in a mirror as I
walked by. My nose is a red as a Senator's. I don't understand.
How can there be so much nose wax? I had this sudden vision of my nose as
being a sort of dermal lasagna, with a layer of skin, a layer of wax, a layer
of skin, and so forth. A bottomless lasagna. This thought kept me pre-occupied
as the managerial team explained something having to do with productivity.
Ah, well. Back to the nose-taping!
I seemed to have suffered a setback during the meeting. The nose wax, which
had been reduced to a thin film like dust on an pastor's glasses, was back
in force. I may have lost upwards of two dozen strips' worth of progress.
Whatever internal processes are responsible for the replenishment of lost
nose wax, they're in fine fetter.
I am now on my second roll of tape. It's getting hard to concentrate
through the raw throbbing. I am lucky that nose muffs went out of
still after the reign of King Edward III (1327-77), or I would be
in deep trouble. And yet, there is still wax. A vast tundra of nose
wax. Somewhere in my body organs are failing and muscles are deteriorating
as all available blood and energy is devoted to nose wax production. If
I don't make it, make sure this record gets to the press. Others must
be warned. The world must learn from my sacrifice.
I have failed. Each tape strip is as wax-laden as the last. My nose
really hurts. Perhaps there is an answer somewhere, perhaps someday
humanity will enjoy the comfort of a perfectly smooth nose, or perhaps
nose wax is simply a substance beyond the capacity of our small minds
to comprehend. At any rate, I do not consider this a failure of the
human spirit, but rather a failure of me to care any more. Ignominy
and ridicule are mine to wallow in. Ah, well. Time to paint faces
on my fingernails with white-out.