Can you feel it? Autumn is in the air. Okay, I know what you’re thinking: “Yes, I can feel it, and I especially love idle chit-chat about seasonal weather. I love weather so much I even got Al Roker on my fantasy meteorology team.” Point taken, you sarcastic stooge.
The bummer about the reappearance of cooler weather is that it spawns a whole new breed of germs and bacteria which in turn leads to people getting sick, which leads to me getting sick. But I’ll deal with it. I’ll be a petulant, whiny baby about my illness, but I’ll deal with it.
All I ask in return is for a bit of help, that those of you who are already sick exhibit just a touch of personal accountability and respect for your fellow human. If you’re sick, don’t shake my hand, cover your mouth when you cough, and keep your kids out of school when something resembling Shrek is dripping from their nose.
If this simple edict isn’t clear, let me share a story of how not to handle yourself when you’re sick. Today I was at the post office – a place I loathe anyway – but this trip was infinitely more maddening than normal. A young woman was in line immediately in front of me, talking on her cell phone (I could go off on that point alone, but I haven’t the energy.) Her eyes were runny, her nose was red and she was sniffling and coughing incessantly in between inane conversation.
Her phone conversation went a little like this:
“… no I can’t today, I’m incredibly sick… no, it’s not the flu, it’s in my head and my chest but I feel worse than I ever have in my life...”
At this point she lets out a bone-rattling and phlegm-filled cough as the rest of us in line exchanged looks, pulled their shirt collars over their mouth, and generally took three steps away. The phone call continued…
“… no, mom, remember when I had that bronchitis thing when I was a senior? Well, this is worse... like pneumonia or something. The doctor told me to stay inside and away from people because it’s so contagious.”
Now I’m wondering who this chick thinks we are, or at least what we are, because clearly, in her estimation, we are not ‘people,’ otherwise she wouldn’t risk infecting us, right? More phone call…
“… no, my roommate has it, too. I have three gallons of orange juice in my fridge to help us recover, so I’m gonna take it easy and get better because I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”
So, to be clear, the equation is: “me” < “worst enemy.” About now she goes into a two-minute coughing frenzy. Initially, wheezing into her hand, then, as she buckled over, she muffled the cough in her sleeve, and finally, when she could catch a breath, she quelled it with a refreshing deep sip from her steaming Starbucks vente caramel macchiato. Well played, horrible person. Well played.
As I took in the eyes of my fellow postal patrons, I could see that we were all envisioning our weekend on our respective couches cursing this modern-day leper and her germs. I wanted to leave, but I knew that the odds were high that I was already infected. No, I was out of options and now jones-ing for some Purell. I needed to pour it directly into my nostrils. I needed to gargle it. I decided that if, when I get home, we I was out of Purell, I would douse myself in rubbing alcohol and set a lit match to myself, because I did not want this Ebola.
Anyway, back to this chick… she’s next in line and waved up by the postal clerk. And what do you think could have been so important that she needed to risk infecting the general population? A book of stamps and a money order for $3.00. I kid you not! You could hear the audible groan from everyone in line. I wanted to yell, “Need to catch up on your correspondence before you curl up on your death bed, do ya?” ‘Dear Grandma, just a quick note to let you know that I am patient zero, and also that I was beaten nearly to death at the post office today.’
And what’s with a money order for three dollars? The reason you buy a money order is because you don’t want to send cash in the mail. If three dollars gets lost in the mail, guess what? Its three dollars! We’re doomed folks. Doomed. And I just got a tickle in my throat. Great.
The bummer about the reappearance of cooler weather is that it spawns a whole new breed of germs and bacteria which in turn leads to people getting sick, which leads to me getting sick. But I’ll deal with it. I’ll be a petulant, whiny baby about my illness, but I’ll deal with it.
All I ask in return is for a bit of help, that those of you who are already sick exhibit just a touch of personal accountability and respect for your fellow human. If you’re sick, don’t shake my hand, cover your mouth when you cough, and keep your kids out of school when something resembling Shrek is dripping from their nose.
If this simple edict isn’t clear, let me share a story of how not to handle yourself when you’re sick. Today I was at the post office – a place I loathe anyway – but this trip was infinitely more maddening than normal. A young woman was in line immediately in front of me, talking on her cell phone (I could go off on that point alone, but I haven’t the energy.) Her eyes were runny, her nose was red and she was sniffling and coughing incessantly in between inane conversation.
Her phone conversation went a little like this:
“… no I can’t today, I’m incredibly sick… no, it’s not the flu, it’s in my head and my chest but I feel worse than I ever have in my life...”
At this point she lets out a bone-rattling and phlegm-filled cough as the rest of us in line exchanged looks, pulled their shirt collars over their mouth, and generally took three steps away. The phone call continued…
“… no, mom, remember when I had that bronchitis thing when I was a senior? Well, this is worse... like pneumonia or something. The doctor told me to stay inside and away from people because it’s so contagious.”
Now I’m wondering who this chick thinks we are, or at least what we are, because clearly, in her estimation, we are not ‘people,’ otherwise she wouldn’t risk infecting us, right? More phone call…
“… no, my roommate has it, too. I have three gallons of orange juice in my fridge to help us recover, so I’m gonna take it easy and get better because I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”
So, to be clear, the equation is: “me” < “worst enemy.” About now she goes into a two-minute coughing frenzy. Initially, wheezing into her hand, then, as she buckled over, she muffled the cough in her sleeve, and finally, when she could catch a breath, she quelled it with a refreshing deep sip from her steaming Starbucks vente caramel macchiato. Well played, horrible person. Well played.
As I took in the eyes of my fellow postal patrons, I could see that we were all envisioning our weekend on our respective couches cursing this modern-day leper and her germs. I wanted to leave, but I knew that the odds were high that I was already infected. No, I was out of options and now jones-ing for some Purell. I needed to pour it directly into my nostrils. I needed to gargle it. I decided that if, when I get home, we I was out of Purell, I would douse myself in rubbing alcohol and set a lit match to myself, because I did not want this Ebola.
Anyway, back to this chick… she’s next in line and waved up by the postal clerk. And what do you think could have been so important that she needed to risk infecting the general population? A book of stamps and a money order for $3.00. I kid you not! You could hear the audible groan from everyone in line. I wanted to yell, “Need to catch up on your correspondence before you curl up on your death bed, do ya?” ‘Dear Grandma, just a quick note to let you know that I am patient zero, and also that I was beaten nearly to death at the post office today.’
And what’s with a money order for three dollars? The reason you buy a money order is because you don’t want to send cash in the mail. If three dollars gets lost in the mail, guess what? Its three dollars! We’re doomed folks. Doomed. And I just got a tickle in my throat. Great.
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