Chicago Tales #4: Bleach and Marble - Part 2: Blood EVERYWHERE!
WARNING, GRAPHIC IMAGE AHEAD FOR THOSE WITH A WEAK STOMACH
This whole trip came about because my Sister had a conference and she asked me to tag along. She added an extra day so that we would have time to do some sightseeing, but in the process of planning, she ended up having to go to two conferences instead of one, so that ruined her extra day of doing anything, but it meant that I had more time on my own to do stuff. I was a bit afraid that I would end up stuck in the room the entire trip because I've been extremely anti-social of late, but once I got used to the hop-on-off bus with her, I was fine by myself.
This was a good thing too because, she and I have VERY different views on art and The Art Institute was one of our sightseeing places that we were going to do together, but I now had all to myself. I was worried that we would end up fighting (as we often do in Art Museums...I tend to spend too much time in the Impressionists and Renaissance areas and she likes Modern Art, which I can't stand).
As an important side note, I didn't plan on the weather to be as warm and/or as humid as it is down here, so I didn't pack clothing comparable to what I would wear down here. I packed capris, but only dress flip flops (not meant to be worn for everyday use). But it was so warm, I decided on my museum day, I would wear my dress flips anyway, and just blister pad line up the top of my foot (just in case).
Again, here is where I screwed up. Because of the schedule of events, I didn't get to the Art Institute until 3 pm and it closed at 5 pm, so I was moving at a super-fast pace. I have been there before, so it was OK, I just needed some Monet time and I haven't seen the Seurat for A Sunday on La Grande Jatte in person, so I was anxious to do so. I wasn't paying ANY attention to my feet and my flip flops, despite their dressy nature, were Yellow Box, so they were super comfortable and the tops of my feet were covered in blister pads to block the irritating nature of the scratchy tops, so I wasn't bovver'ed. Room to room I bounced, snapping pictures left and right and, despite the fact that my shoes eventually started squeaking (which I just attributed to me getting hot and sweating, although I didn't feel like I was hot at all, it was pretty cold in there actually), I felt no pain.
Once I got to the Greek section, my shoes were squeaking louder, but again, no pain and it was 4:40, so I still wasn't bovver'ed, until a security guard stopped me (the third one to do so for various different reasons...I was a popular tourist, apparently...Aspers just LOVE to be noticed, thank you VERY much!) and very loudly exclaimed "MA'AM! ARE YOU ALRIGHT????". My answer in the weakest, quietest voice I could muster..."yes, thank you, I'm fine, thanks for asking" (since now everyone in creation was staring at me), "BUT MA'AM, YOU'RE BLLLEEEEDDDINGGGG!!!!" and she pointed to the trail of bloody footprints that I had left on the marble floor from the Byzantines to the Greeks.
Yea, one of the blister pads had come loose and I had rubbed my foot raw enough that I was gushing blood from one of the few visible veins I have, like someone had cut a major artery or something! That squeaking I had been hearing, for god knows how long, was the blood soaking, first my shoe, then the floor!
She called another guard on their walkies, they sat me down in a chair (much to my horror), they asked if I needed an ambulance (again, I swore I didn't, much to my horror), I used Kleenex to clog up the bleeding and wipe down my shoe and begged them to at least let me get to a bathroom (which they FINALLY did). Once there, I washed off my shoe (which REALLY made it squeak), put a new blister pad on the space (I forgot I had them in my bag until I got in the bathroom) and bolted out the door for the bus.
Ironically, on my way out, there was a janitor mopping the floor with, you guessed it, bleach!
Once it was all clean, it looked like nothing, and even a couple of days later when I got home, I can't see how I managed to lose THAT much blood from such a superficial wound:
I only wish I would have had the sense to take a photo of the bloody footprints I left in the museum! Wonder if I was the first person to ever do that? Seems like I left my mark on a lot of marble in Chicago! But next up, the final bleach and marble story, the aftermath!
This whole trip came about because my Sister had a conference and she asked me to tag along. She added an extra day so that we would have time to do some sightseeing, but in the process of planning, she ended up having to go to two conferences instead of one, so that ruined her extra day of doing anything, but it meant that I had more time on my own to do stuff. I was a bit afraid that I would end up stuck in the room the entire trip because I've been extremely anti-social of late, but once I got used to the hop-on-off bus with her, I was fine by myself.
This was a good thing too because, she and I have VERY different views on art and The Art Institute was one of our sightseeing places that we were going to do together, but I now had all to myself. I was worried that we would end up fighting (as we often do in Art Museums...I tend to spend too much time in the Impressionists and Renaissance areas and she likes Modern Art, which I can't stand).
As an important side note, I didn't plan on the weather to be as warm and/or as humid as it is down here, so I didn't pack clothing comparable to what I would wear down here. I packed capris, but only dress flip flops (not meant to be worn for everyday use). But it was so warm, I decided on my museum day, I would wear my dress flips anyway, and just blister pad line up the top of my foot (just in case).
Again, here is where I screwed up. Because of the schedule of events, I didn't get to the Art Institute until 3 pm and it closed at 5 pm, so I was moving at a super-fast pace. I have been there before, so it was OK, I just needed some Monet time and I haven't seen the Seurat for A Sunday on La Grande Jatte in person, so I was anxious to do so. I wasn't paying ANY attention to my feet and my flip flops, despite their dressy nature, were Yellow Box, so they were super comfortable and the tops of my feet were covered in blister pads to block the irritating nature of the scratchy tops, so I wasn't bovver'ed. Room to room I bounced, snapping pictures left and right and, despite the fact that my shoes eventually started squeaking (which I just attributed to me getting hot and sweating, although I didn't feel like I was hot at all, it was pretty cold in there actually), I felt no pain.
Once I got to the Greek section, my shoes were squeaking louder, but again, no pain and it was 4:40, so I still wasn't bovver'ed, until a security guard stopped me (the third one to do so for various different reasons...I was a popular tourist, apparently...Aspers just LOVE to be noticed, thank you VERY much!) and very loudly exclaimed "MA'AM! ARE YOU ALRIGHT????". My answer in the weakest, quietest voice I could muster..."yes, thank you, I'm fine, thanks for asking" (since now everyone in creation was staring at me), "BUT MA'AM, YOU'RE BLLLEEEEDDDINGGGG!!!!" and she pointed to the trail of bloody footprints that I had left on the marble floor from the Byzantines to the Greeks.
Yea, one of the blister pads had come loose and I had rubbed my foot raw enough that I was gushing blood from one of the few visible veins I have, like someone had cut a major artery or something! That squeaking I had been hearing, for god knows how long, was the blood soaking, first my shoe, then the floor!
She called another guard on their walkies, they sat me down in a chair (much to my horror), they asked if I needed an ambulance (again, I swore I didn't, much to my horror), I used Kleenex to clog up the bleeding and wipe down my shoe and begged them to at least let me get to a bathroom (which they FINALLY did). Once there, I washed off my shoe (which REALLY made it squeak), put a new blister pad on the space (I forgot I had them in my bag until I got in the bathroom) and bolted out the door for the bus.
Ironically, on my way out, there was a janitor mopping the floor with, you guessed it, bleach!
Once it was all clean, it looked like nothing, and even a couple of days later when I got home, I can't see how I managed to lose THAT much blood from such a superficial wound:
I only wish I would have had the sense to take a photo of the bloody footprints I left in the museum! Wonder if I was the first person to ever do that? Seems like I left my mark on a lot of marble in Chicago! But next up, the final bleach and marble story, the aftermath!
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Linda