In the ranching business we have a term for sorting the herd—culling. I suppose the term can be used for culling wildlife and other sort of herd animals as well, but that’s none of my business…unless the heard consists of homo sapiens, and the specific animal being culled is me.
I came down with a titch of a cold this week. Perhaps it was just allergies…but that’s what they always say isn’t it? Right before they turn and sink their teeth into your shoulder, eyes rolled back into their head, and mouth gone frothy. Is it just me, or does it feel different to be sick during these Covid-19 addled times? You hear a sneeze from the next isle over at the grocery store, and you decide that maybe you don’t really need another bag of Doritos. Maybe Chester Cheetah can keep his cheesy fingers to himself for another week.
In the midst of my mild cold/allergies, I had to make yet another trip to Home Depot. Some blue-collar, old codger starts coughing up a lung while I’m navigating the electrical isle. I find myself repeating the internal mantra, “He’s just a life-long smoker.” Yep, I sooth myself with the reminder that cancer’s not contagious…yet.
A few minutes later, while waiting at customer service to pick up my shower door, I go into a sneezing fit (I had to throw the mask away afterward, into a burn barrel, marked with the biological hazard symbol). I might as well have been staggering around the store with ooze dripping from my eyes while ranting, “It’s only allergies! I swear!” Mothers cover their children’s faces and hurry them toward the exit. Burley contractors fall to their knees and cry out to the gods for rescue. The cashier utters, “Santa Maria” while crossing herself.
Just before passing out in a pool of tears and snot, the sneezing attack passes and the clouds break. Everyone steps back and breathes deeply (through their sleeves and masks). I glance around sheepishly, shrug, and say, “Hay fever.” And while all seems forgiven, I can’t help but feel the weight of their stares as I push my shower door out the exit and head for my car. The herd has labeled me as a potential risk. I’ve a mark against me.
“Allergies, huh? Yeah, likely story. I bet he’s one of them, one of the INFECTED,” the attendant at the door says.
Trust me, I know how this story ends. It’s a classic post-apocalyptic or even dystopian/utopian trope. The moment I let my guard down, the rest of the herd takes me out so that I don’t reduce their overall chance of survival. It’s Gattaca all over again. So be careful out there. No matter what you do, never let them see you sneeze. (Or at least successfully project your snot into their eyes before they dispatch you.)
At the Desk This Week
As mentioned above, I’ve been a bit under the weather this week. Unfortunately, my creative brain is always the first casualty of sickness. So I’ve got no progress to update this week. I’ll be back at the ole hamster wheel soon enough though. I’m already feeling much better and feel the juices starting to flow beneath the frozen layer of snot. (That really was too far, now wasn’t it?)
For my Lost DMB fans out there, I’m now streaming the third season: McCutchen’s Bones (which actually starts with “Hell’s Womb”).
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