The new job is going well. No, really, it's going decently. I have very few complaints, with the exception of the heat. It's traditionally women who complain about the temperature being too cold, so I thought they were responsible for the eighty-degree temps in our humongous office. Where I work is a bit of a cliche, so I asked if we had to fill out a form 8753 in order to get the temperature down below roasting. Even the women were complaining.
Speaking of women, I work near three women or so, who have apparently been sick off and on for months. I told them if I got typhoid, it would be their fault. Little did I realize that they had been playing Pass the Germs for way longer than I have been there.
Sure enough, my throat began to feel icky. This was followed, in short order, by my head ringing and being in a vise. It is difficult to concentrate on your job when you're desperately attempting to fail at falling off your chair. This all happened in one day. So I chose to stay at work and irradiate the rest of my coworkers who had not yet become sick. I'm a giver.
You'll be surprised to learn that I don't get sick like normal people. Being a man, I had to ask my wife if I had a temperature, which she verified. The joke is somewhat on me because whenever I ask if I have a temp, my wife tells me yes. Why we do Fever Theater<tm>, I'm not sure. One day when I'm well, I am going to ask her to feel my forehead, just for fun. And then maybe I'll tell her that's not where my forehead is. I figured the smart thing to do, aside from consuming copious amounts of ibuprofen, would be to take some Nyquil equivalent to help me sleep. It kept waking me up at hourly intervals, like a seriously snoring spouse with a chainsaw.
By the next morning, I was on our Natural Cocktail: zinc, echinacea and vitamin C. You start taking this the moment you feel sick and it will either help you to ward it off or shorten its duration. If you don't have trouble swallowing pills, you will when you see echinacea. It looks kinda like a clear capsule of oregano, only it's the size of a small football (deflated, of course). And it's a good thing I dumped all this crap down my throat because the relatively simple act of sitting on the couch made my skin hurt. When the phone rang, my head exploded. When my wife spoke, the hair follicles on my arm contracted and sent pain shooting to my brain (what was left of it). Even innocent email checking rendered my eyebrows non-functional. My nose does not run but my stomach does: right to the fridge. When I get sick, my appetite goes through the roof. Keep your hands and feet away from my mouth.
We're about to get a noreaster, whatever that means. It means PANIC. It means clean out the stores of milk and bread in mass PANIC. Depending on who you listen to, we're getting two or three snow storms. This includes between one and twelve inches of snow, depending on which attractive weather woman you prefer to watch. At least this time they came right out and admitted that there was no way to accurately predict the amount of snowfall, instead offering four different scenarios. This happened on three different networks, as if they were colluding.
The news is calling this the storm of the century. This indicates that total snowfall will be somewhere in the area of an inch to an inch and a half. Mind you, the news also features shots at grocery stores, where the shelves are literally picked clean. You'd think they weren't going to get out to the store for three weeks. They're now calling it Snowmageddon. This is why I get my news online.
The real mess is going to happen tomorrow, so naturally my wife asked me to stop at the store and pick a few things up. She is the one who goes shopping, so it's a crapshoot when I have to enter that dark place. Let's start with walking in: most people have no trouble - not me. I walk up to the door and it won't open. I strongly suspect it is refusing on purpose, perhaps on principle. I'd have the store manager come out and explain it to me but as it is, he's busy plowing the lot (or one of his cashiers).
In front of me at the deli counter is an old lady who is apparently feeding a small battleship's complement. She requires a pound and a half of swiss but it has to be in three packages for some unknown reason. Then some turkey. No, that's not thick enough. Then a half a pound of ham. That's too thick. I held on well, managing not to strangle her with her own turkey pastrami and half an hour later, it was my turn. Mind you, they didn't have what my wife sent me to purchase. It's friggin' cheese - what's so difficult?
Just to make things more interesting, the Deli Lady wound up in front of me at the cashier. It turned out she had a husband, who kinda popped up when the bags were in the cart. I have no idea where he was the whole time; perhaps he was off trying to convince them to sell him three gallons of milk, but in seven plastic containers.
Once outside of the store, I tried carrying the packages to the car. Fortunately for me, it remained in the place where I parked it. My wife's creamer took a leap right out of the bag, while I had four plastic bags on me. When I got home, the creamer, which obviously had something against me, had once again removed itself from its confines. This was made more amusing by the fact that I keep confusing the trunk release with the gas release. This won't be a serious problem until I start filling up the trunk with gasoline.
The cherry on top of the ice cream sundae has to be the mayor of Philthydelphia's press conference. It's fun to watch because we like to laugh (we're outside of Philly). He emphasized that they're serious about snow removal. If so, this would be the first time. There will be 375 people and 800 pieces of equipment deployed. Two days later, people will be wondering why there's snow all over the place, as if they had no idea it was going to snow. Furthermore, do not throw snow back in the street - it's disrespectful. Disrespectful is promising to clear the streets and failing completely. It would be a fair bet that it's been snowing here for longer than there has been a city of Philadelphia, yet they have consistenly failed to do an even passable job of cleaning up. There are actually cities all over the country that manage to clean up way more snow way more frequently. Driving in Philly is a nightmare with no snow.
I have to go now. The dog is doing us a favor, protecting us from the last bag of Cheese Jax (by eating them). After it gets done snowing, the Abominable Snow Span will grace the freshly-washed blanket on the couch, which was washed yesterday because he was out in the rain and mud.