Saturday, April 08, 2006
Chatter overheard between two clerks in a bookshop this afternoon.
"Ugh, I just can't shake this cold. I've had it for weeks, now."
"I bet I've been sicker than you."
"Oh, yeah. Years ago, after my grandmother died, her place out near Winchester sorta went to hell. The barn collapsed, and so did the corn-crib. My dad wanted to sell the place, but first he wanted the collapsed buildings cleared, so buyers wouldn't be scared off. He sent me out with the truck and some tools. When I got there, I found out the corn-crib had been infested with rats for years--"
"Oh, yeah. I had to clean out years' worth of rat corpses and droppings. It was a disgusting job, and a couple days later I got real, real sick, coughing up blood, high fever. I went to the hospital, and they freaked, 'cos I had the Plague."
"No, for real. Isolation ward, Bubble Boy, the whole deal. Obviously I got better, but now whenever a doctor reads my medical history I can always tell when they get to that part of the story. They go real quiet."