Granted, I'm no health care professional, nor do I even resemble one of those gratingly cutesy actresses that pass for one on television, but I'm calling the last 30 or so days as I see it: a pandemic! More to the point: a feverish puke, sweat and shit filled phlegm fest. I gratefully managed to avoid the norovirus which struck about 70% of the people I know who either live or work in New York City. Victims were vomiting curbside while hailing a taxicab only to shit their pants on the way home due to the total absence of free public restrooms in the greatest city on earth. Meanwhile in the outer 'burbs, strange sweaty outbreaks were randomly occurring in the population accompanied by dizziness, a slight cough and general fatigue. The symptoms would seem to dissapear, in reality only going into remission gathering steam for the big kahuna -- an ass-over-teakettle upper respiratory smackdown with complementary bronchitis and a suffocation of the sinus cavities making one ponder the possibility of having been quiescently teabagged by an epileptic bricklayer. After see-sawing in and out of illness for three weeks, I was finally prescribed Levaquin and promethazine with dextromethorphan syrup. Then I really got sick. Unbeknownst to this humble host organism, a detrimental colonization was ON...
I laid lox-like in sweaty bed clothes for four days not even miffed that my local cable company had switched off my service for late payment, or that the crap company I work for may be losing two more
criminals clients because I have no back-up. There was no "next week", only repeated visits to the Brita and the bathroom. Having gone through two and a half boxes of 180 count 2-ply Kleenex with lotion amidst hourly shmears of petroleum jelly under my nose, I eagerly tuned into the mirror's daily metamorphosis of a pustulent zit incubating above my top lip. "This is gonna be great!", I mused awaiting the emergence of an opportune white spot which would signal it's ripeness. You see, my bloodlust was measured with the foresight that 72 hours and 500mgs of quinolone antibiotic coupled with the pressure of two forefingers would render the offending pimple quickly obsolete after it's spectacular expulsion. This drug was killing every last speck of bacteria in my filthy system. Yet another 48 hours later, all of my exiting portals were performing as if they'd been treated with WD-40. It could be finally be declared:
Is there some great lesson after all of this? Nah. I would advise though that next time you're sick, don't slack with the balled up wads of corporate toilet paper at your desk for your runny nose, invest in a box of tissues. Wash your hands, cover your mouth when you cough or sneeze then wash your hands again making sure not to touch any doorknobs or surfaces without holding a paper towel or something. Then, go the hell home already. You're making everyone nauseous and possibly really sick at work because you want everyone to see what a martyr you are. Use your sickdays, go to the doctor and get a note, you won't get fired unless you work for a total fascist, in which case it's time you found a better job anyway. Gesundheit!