Last week, illness swept through my office and infected everyone in my department—except me. One person ended up with pneumonia, another person with bronchitis again, and still another with a sinus infection. I have to admit that all of these germs gave me a craving for anything Lysol and a strong desire for a face mask and gloves.
My reaction is perfectly logical. Remember? I’m paranoid. My paranoia is not limited to the internet or camping. My paranoia binds me like a blanket swaddles an infant: it’s comforting and suffocating at the same time.
My colleagues proceeded to harass me about making all of them sick. “I couldn’t have,” I explained. “I feel just fine.” “Then, you must be a carrier,” came the response. I laughed about it, joking that my little germ monsters (children) have built up my immunity. I felt strong, almost invincible.
I’m not laughing anymore; I’m sick. I am humbled, as the carrier theory is tossed in the garbage, along with an entire box of used tissues.
Perhaps when I go into work today, I will get sympathy for being another casualty in the germ war. Or more likely, I will be framed in an alternate scenario that would keep the blame on me, yet explain the spread of sickness.
Sounds like a government-type cover up to me. What do you think?