Ya didn't have to be THAT way, Panera!

It was part of South Beach, Phase II. I wasn't violating a darned thing. And let's face it, I've come to love ya, Panera. So, why was it necessary to split my eyebrow open on your front door, huh?

I stopped to pick up some tasty sandwiches for a late evening dinner after a much too long day at work. All was going well and I was cruising at my don't-fuck-with-me pace back out the front door when I missed my reach for bar that released the door. My momentum carried my forehead, or more specifically, my right eyebrow, directly into the glass door. The pain registered, even as I rapidly corrected and knocked the door open, barely slowing myself down on the way to the car, but I knew something was wrong almost immediately. By the time I got to the leading edge of the parking lot, I thought I felt the moisture. By the time I was halfway across the lot to the car - not a large lot, mind you - I felt something dripping down from above my eye. I reached up and wiped, pulling my hand away and seeing a substantial amount of blood.

As soon as I opened the car door, I grabbed the reasonably fresh microfiber that we just put in the car last weekend, soaked up the bulk of the mess and applied pressure - a lot of pressure. I sat like that for close to five minutes, wondering whether it would stem the tide. I was shocked at the speed with which the wound had created the mess that was all over the towel. I just sat wondering, will I be able to drive home?

After a few more moments, I removed the towel for a moment. I resisted turning the light on and taking a close look, instead opting to wait 15 seconds before reapplying a clean portion of the towel and then checking it for fresh blood. There was a tiny portion there, but nothing overwhelming. I finally switched on the light and took a close look in the mirror. I was surprised to find what looked like about a half-inch gash just where the eyebrow curves down into the socket. It wasn't bleeding profusely though. Those of you who know me, know I'm a big guy. I'm not used to running into things and not winning. This was quite unusual.

I thought briefly of returning inside to Panera, but opted not to. It wasn't like the floor was slick or anything. It had been an accident - a momentary loss of coordination. I wanted to get home. I wanted to end this day. I wanted to eat a sandwich.

So start the car I did, and home I came. It was when I saw myself in the bathroom mirror here, that I first started to realize exactly what kind of force I must have had behind my head's contact with the door.

It was a split approximately 1/2 inch long, and wide enough to justify stitches. Carole and I talked briefly about that, and scars, and co-pays and sitting around in urgent care for God knows how long. I chose to defer that decision and instead make an effort to clean up the mess and self treat. We wouldn't be surprised if I woke up with a pretty healthy shiner. It would be my first, but I think the rest of the eye looks like there was enough of a hit to blacken it pretty good.

The sandwich, however, was damned good. And that really was the point, wasn't it? Sometimes we have to fight for our food to maintain that connection with our internal primitive.