The Homicidal Iron

After the first incident with the iron a few weeks ago, I put it away so I could have some time for the raw, emotional wounds to heal. Since I had the room to myself since I’ve been here, I put it on top of the spare locker in time out and let it think about what it had done to me.

A week or so ago, we got a new group of people in (finally, I am no longer the FNG!).  One of the new people is now my roommate.  On her first morning here, she was going to skip breakfast and meet us at the bus stop.  I went to breakfast with a coworker and some more of the new people and we all walked over to the bus stop together, but my roommate still wasn’t there.  I was a little nervous that maybe she got lost on her way and was being hit on by an Iraqi general.  Just as I was considering getting out to go look for her, I saw her on the other end of the parking lot.  She walked up to a window of the bus and told us she needed to get to medical NOW for a head injury.  My iron had tried to take its own life and ended up breaking its fall on the back of her head as she kneeled down to tie her shoes. 

The latest iron incident was yesterday when I was adjusting my ironing board and the iron fell off, sticking to my arm.  Fortunately it was probably not yet silicone-melting hot, but it was hot enough to leave two long burns on my forearm. 

We worry when we sleep, because really, we’ve lost all trust in the iron.  Next thing you know you’re going to wake up with the iron hovering over you with its cord wrapped around your neck.

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