Rabbit Hat's Bloody Vengeance
In which my nose bleeds but i still have no telekenetic abilities
Two years ago I was a student at Oregon State University, enduring a living hell in the crappy student housing surrounded by my nightmarish peers. I was sharing a room the size of a closet with another person, the roofs leaked, I was surrounded by people that made me feel like I was still in high school, and there was always a strange purple goo all over the walls. (Despite the movie "Ghostbusters," I still suspect my fellow dorm occupants of being responsible for this.) All this and more for a mere $550 per month (not counting food, not counting the $550 per month paid for the same closet-sized room by my roommate). The only good thing about life at OSU was the occasional college care package I'd receive in the mail.
One day during fall term, such a care package arrived in the mail, from the parents of a good chum of mine in Medford. In it, among other things, was a rabbit skin hat -- the kind sported by many a cast member in the movie Fargo, with flaps that flipped down to cover the ears and one that flipped up so as not to cover your eyes. It was the kind of hat one would wear if one were hunting wabbits. It was a damn fine hat.
Unfortunately, I never had much opportunity to wear my stylish hat, because, despite the cold, rainy reputation Oregon has, it's never really that cold. Not cold enough to warrant a hat like that, anyway, and all attempts I made to wear it resulted in my face being covered in sweat within a few minutes, and being asked if I needed to visit the Student Health Center. I never had a chance to wear that hat, until tonight.
Lately I've been going on walks. I just moved to the San Francisco Bay area, and I have nothing better to do than walk down Shoreline Drive, the road which runs along the beach in Alameda, and back again -- a little over a three-mile walk, total. As it's usually rather chilly and windy out when I go for my walk, I like to put on a long-sleeved shirt, coat, and long underwear (you know the stuff, thermal undershirt and pants). My one complaint, though, is that by the time I get back, my face is usually so cold it's numb.
Tonight I didn't get home until late -- about 10:30 -- and knowing that it'd be even colder than usual outside, I had the bright idea to put on the hat. After bundling up in my usual gear, I fished the hat out of my closet, put it on my head, pulled down the ear-flaps, snapped the strap that wraps the flaps under my chin, and away I went for my walk by the bay.
It wasn't long, though, for I hadn't gotten half way down Shoreline, when I noticed that I was having some difficulty breathing through my nose. It was all stuffed up. I sniffed and wrinkled my nose but nothing up there was budging. I've never experienced any kind of allergies to rabbit hair before, but then I've never really spent much time around rabbits, and I'd never had one wrapped around my head.
I should explain here that I am a hemophiliac -- a bleeder, a carrier of the royal man's disease* -- and I can sense the change of the seasons. Some people have a knee that pains them when it's going to rain, some people get a twitch when there's lighting a-comin'. My nose starts bleeding due to the slightest change in barometric pressure. Or maybe not. All I know is that whether it's spring turning to summer or fall turning to winter, the trickle starts. I know hemophilia is only supposed to hinder your ability to STOP bleeding, but I've had this problem with spontaneous nose bleeds all my life, including one trip to the emergency room when I was young (before anyone knew hemophilia ran in my family) when my nose would not stop bleeding.
Well a few days ago, at work, typing away in front of my computer, I felt it, the trickle. Winter was here, no doubting it. Being an expert at concealing nosebleeds from countless practice in class rooms all my life, I began the procedure of inhaling hard through the nose and out through the mouth, keeping my head tilted back ever so slightly, and walked to the bathroom. Five minutes later, cleaned up and ready to go, I returned to my desk.
Skip back to the rabbit hat, and the havoc it's playing on my nose. The irritation and the wrinkling proved too much, and the trickle started again. Same nostril, same flow; it was definitely the same abrasion as a few days before, no doubt about it. Only this time I was a half mile from home, with nowhere to pretty myself up. Putting Operation Keepsniffing into action, I turned around and began walking back. But first, I thought to myself, I must get rid of this hat.
Being winter, and knowing that I'd have to walk by both a Safeway and an Albertson's on the way back, I decided I'd stop by both stores to see if either of them had one of those Coats-for-the-Homeless boxes that I could toss the hat in. Safeway only seemed to be collecting canned food, but at Albertson's I didn't see anything.
"Excuse me, Miss," I said to the woman at the nearest register, my thermal undershirt peeking out from my coat sleeve, the Fargo hat still atop my head, my face covered in sweat and a trickle of blood creeping down from my nose to my upper lip. "Do you have any of those boxes full of clothes for homeless people?"
"Ohh," the cashier replied sympathetically, "I'm sorry, we can't give those out ourselves. The people organizing the drive come by and collect all the clothes. Maybe I can get you their number if you want."
"No," I said, "I don't think you understand. I want to donate my hat." I pointed at my hat helpfully. "It makes my nose bleed."
I was unable to give the hat away, as I was informed that Albertson's didn't have a homeless clothes box anyway, despite the cashier's initial belief that they did. That hat's back in my closet, where it spent the last two years before its little excursion tonight. If I find some sort of charitable collection or a drive willing to take the hat, I will donate it. Or if any of you want a rabbit hat, let me know.
* I actually don't have the kind of hemophilia caused by inbreeding amongst the royal families of Europe. I have the other kind, Hemophilia B, which was probably caused by inbreeding amongst Hill Folk in the Appalachians.
One day during fall term, such a care package arrived in the mail, from the parents of a good chum of mine in Medford. In it, among other things, was a rabbit skin hat -- the kind sported by many a cast member in the movie Fargo, with flaps that flipped down to cover the ears and one that flipped up so as not to cover your eyes. It was the kind of hat one would wear if one were hunting wabbits. It was a damn fine hat.
Unfortunately, I never had much opportunity to wear my stylish hat, because, despite the cold, rainy reputation Oregon has, it's never really that cold. Not cold enough to warrant a hat like that, anyway, and all attempts I made to wear it resulted in my face being covered in sweat within a few minutes, and being asked if I needed to visit the Student Health Center. I never had a chance to wear that hat, until tonight.
Lately I've been going on walks. I just moved to the San Francisco Bay area, and I have nothing better to do than walk down Shoreline Drive, the road which runs along the beach in Alameda, and back again -- a little over a three-mile walk, total. As it's usually rather chilly and windy out when I go for my walk, I like to put on a long-sleeved shirt, coat, and long underwear (you know the stuff, thermal undershirt and pants). My one complaint, though, is that by the time I get back, my face is usually so cold it's numb.
Tonight I didn't get home until late -- about 10:30 -- and knowing that it'd be even colder than usual outside, I had the bright idea to put on the hat. After bundling up in my usual gear, I fished the hat out of my closet, put it on my head, pulled down the ear-flaps, snapped the strap that wraps the flaps under my chin, and away I went for my walk by the bay.
It wasn't long, though, for I hadn't gotten half way down Shoreline, when I noticed that I was having some difficulty breathing through my nose. It was all stuffed up. I sniffed and wrinkled my nose but nothing up there was budging. I've never experienced any kind of allergies to rabbit hair before, but then I've never really spent much time around rabbits, and I'd never had one wrapped around my head.
I should explain here that I am a hemophiliac -- a bleeder, a carrier of the royal man's disease* -- and I can sense the change of the seasons. Some people have a knee that pains them when it's going to rain, some people get a twitch when there's lighting a-comin'. My nose starts bleeding due to the slightest change in barometric pressure. Or maybe not. All I know is that whether it's spring turning to summer or fall turning to winter, the trickle starts. I know hemophilia is only supposed to hinder your ability to STOP bleeding, but I've had this problem with spontaneous nose bleeds all my life, including one trip to the emergency room when I was young (before anyone knew hemophilia ran in my family) when my nose would not stop bleeding.
Well a few days ago, at work, typing away in front of my computer, I felt it, the trickle. Winter was here, no doubting it. Being an expert at concealing nosebleeds from countless practice in class rooms all my life, I began the procedure of inhaling hard through the nose and out through the mouth, keeping my head tilted back ever so slightly, and walked to the bathroom. Five minutes later, cleaned up and ready to go, I returned to my desk.
Skip back to the rabbit hat, and the havoc it's playing on my nose. The irritation and the wrinkling proved too much, and the trickle started again. Same nostril, same flow; it was definitely the same abrasion as a few days before, no doubt about it. Only this time I was a half mile from home, with nowhere to pretty myself up. Putting Operation Keepsniffing into action, I turned around and began walking back. But first, I thought to myself, I must get rid of this hat.
Being winter, and knowing that I'd have to walk by both a Safeway and an Albertson's on the way back, I decided I'd stop by both stores to see if either of them had one of those Coats-for-the-Homeless boxes that I could toss the hat in. Safeway only seemed to be collecting canned food, but at Albertson's I didn't see anything.
"Excuse me, Miss," I said to the woman at the nearest register, my thermal undershirt peeking out from my coat sleeve, the Fargo hat still atop my head, my face covered in sweat and a trickle of blood creeping down from my nose to my upper lip. "Do you have any of those boxes full of clothes for homeless people?"
"Ohh," the cashier replied sympathetically, "I'm sorry, we can't give those out ourselves. The people organizing the drive come by and collect all the clothes. Maybe I can get you their number if you want."
"No," I said, "I don't think you understand. I want to donate my hat." I pointed at my hat helpfully. "It makes my nose bleed."
I was unable to give the hat away, as I was informed that Albertson's didn't have a homeless clothes box anyway, despite the cashier's initial belief that they did. That hat's back in my closet, where it spent the last two years before its little excursion tonight. If I find some sort of charitable collection or a drive willing to take the hat, I will donate it. Or if any of you want a rabbit hat, let me know.
* I actually don't have the kind of hemophilia caused by inbreeding amongst the royal families of Europe. I have the other kind, Hemophilia B, which was probably caused by inbreeding amongst Hill Folk in the Appalachians.