so fresh, so clean

Today I'd like to tell you about an awkward experience that is probably unique to me. I was getting ready to take the train home yesterday when it occurred to me that I would not survive five days in my house without coffee creamer. I feared that my family would have none, or worse--sugar free ("I'll stay dehydrated"). We had a good half-bottle of Vanilla Nut, a flavor Sarah and I picked to be adventurous, in our mini fridge, so I closed it up tight and threw it--no, placed it gently--in my tote.
I also packed several copies of the Driftwood, the literary magazine I work for (holla if you want one! Although you might not after reading this...) because I thought some kind relatives and church folk might be interested. So we have in one bag: five new books and a bottle of sticky milk-like liquid. If you're not a literature aficionado, this is what we call foreshadowing.
The train ride went well; the highlight was two teenagers standing on the platform flipping us off (with smiles!) as we departed. When we got to LA, I organized my three small bags and hobbled awkwardly out of the train. As I was hurrying through the endless tunnel of Union Station, I got kind of stuck behind a little girl in a princess outfit. That's the kind of person who you are actually pleased to be delayed by. As I was admiring her Cinderella rolly-backpack, her dad started looking at me. I thought maybe I was being too creeperish by staring at his kid, so I looked away. Then he said something to me that I couldn't quite hear, so I just kind of smiled at him and tried to keep walking.
"You're leaking," he repeated. This could be a problem for many reasons. But I figured it out quickly enough when I turned around and saw the spotty white trail going all the way back to my platform. I hadn't even noticed it dripping all the way down my thigh onto my pretty little combat boots. On the inside, I did one of those slow motion "Noooooo!"'s, but in real life I just thanked the man and snuck off to a corner to adjust my bags. As I was walking away, some station personnel came hurrying over, as if they sensed in their bones that there was a spill. I tried to be invisible, but somehow they saw me anyway. "I'm so sorry," I said with a shrug/grimace, and they just glared and walked faster.
Once I had closed the traitor lid, I composed myself and tried to walk through the station as if nothing was wrong. But every pair of eyes I met seemed to hold an accusation. They knew. They just knew. Like I was wearing the scarlet letter of train station sin.
I finally made it out to meet my mom in the parking lot and was able to pause and assess the damage: five new books thoroughly soaked in sticky milk-like liquid. My mother, ever the resourceful one, pulled a child's sock out of her purse to help me clean them. It sort of worked, too, but the books still smelled delicious.
And that is the story of how I made a fool of myself yesterday. Don't worry, we still have four more days of break and endless potential for awkwardness. Hope you enjoy your vanilla nut Driftwoods.