Last week, while I was working on an order for a customer, I heard the tell-tale coughs of a budding cold echo from the other side of my work cube.
It started out as a small raspy cough – something seemingly harmless and innocent enough, so long as it was caught early on – but as the day went on, that cough turned wet, coarse, and could rival that of a seasoned smoker’s struggling lungs.
Instead of staying home and preventing her cold from spreading to others like any other sensible person, my coworker sneezed over her left and right shoulders, coughed whenever she could without covering up, and did little to wipe down her station with Lysol or Clorox, of which there were plenty to pass around.
I did everything I could to keep the germs at bay: I sprayed every inch of my desk with Lysol, wiped every corner with Clorox, ate all kinds of fruits and veggies, took my vitamins, the works. I even drank enough fluids to match a race horse’s full bladder.
And yet, as I woke up on my day off, I knew it was all in vain. My nose was clogged, my throat was as dry and cracked as clay baking in the sun, and it seemed like every muscle in my body ached with pain. I had caught the dastardly cold.
I stayed in bed almost the entire day, and the entire following day. My cats took turns sleeping next to my head and sleeping on my stomach, trying to make me feel better. I remember having fitful dreams as I rolled side to side, trying to get away from the heat and aches. For some reason, I kept dreaming about the numbers 125 and 128. Why, I couldn’t even begin to guess the reason.
Then on Saturday, one of my worst nightmares came to life: I lost my voice.
I had to spend the entire night at my other job – one that also relies heavily on my speaking with customers and helping them complete their orders, either gesturing wildly to try and convey my standard questions, or squeak at them like a mouse with its tail perpetually being stepped on.
And today, on this snowy Monday morning, still with no voice, I sit in my chair at my day job waiting for faxed orders to come trickling in, as it is the only job left that doesn’t require me to speak anymore than absolutely need be.
Should I have stayed home? Probably. Could I have actually stayed home and slept, allowing my throat to heal? Not with this wallet size.
L.J. LaBree 