Clean Glass Equals Disaster

It was 12am on a crisp evening in Oklahoma. I couldn't keep my eyes open. I walked back towards the house to say goodbye to the 30+ people inside. I approached the entryway. They must have cleaned the glass door really well, because I never saw it coming. The sound was like when a door slams into its jamb, but reverberates back-and-forth a few inches like an oversized tuning fork. For a moment, time stood still.

What's happening? I thought to myself. I was walking. Now I'm not. Why does my nose hurt? Is it broken?

A perfect smudged outline of my lips, chin, and cheeks had been cast upon the glass. I could taste a hint of blood on my lip. I checked my nose and it wasn't broken.

My roommate swung the door open. "Did you do that on purpose?" He asked.

The question didn't register. I only saw my other roommate along with a dozen others in the hallway. They were rolling.

"You really clean these windows good, out here in Oklahoma," is all I could come up with.