mongrels
This has been quite an unhealthy half year or so in the physics office; everyone has been sicker than they should be, and we all pass it on, round and round. I blame the fact we have to use touchpads to get in and out of areas on our floor. That, and our collective immune system is about as good as that of Camille, the consumptive wonder herself.
Even at my most hale, I tend to have little cough — I seem to be reactive to pretty much every substance on the earth. An old workmate assumed I was a pothead, which made me laugh and laugh and then hack and then wheeze.*
The latest malaise making the rounds has been a cough — a persistent and forceful one that is years ahead of my delicate *koff koff*. I am just starting to take on this monster hack, if just to fit in with every other office- and cubicle-dweller in the administrative department.
I was trying to put my finger on the way the cough was making me feel — something about our tight quarters and lack of privacy; the viralness of the virus.
Then I thought of it, in two simple words: kennel cough.
* I don’t smoke pot. Don’t ask me to, unless you want to be around a freakish, paranoid, tightly-wound buzzkiller out to not only harsh, but crush your mellow.
- Related hamblink: dysania
- More about kennel cough!
Photo: Play Time Cubicles, by flickruser Stewf. Thanks for letting me use it!
Muahahahahah Kennel cough. That’s totally what it is! Perfect!