A Copywriter’s Blog
Mass Transit is Trying to Kill Me

I love that I no longer have a car, even if it means I no longer get to write posts like this one. I love the fact that once I get on the train, someone else drives me to work for an hour each day, and I get to read a book. There’s just one catch. The train is full of people.

Now listen, it’s not that I hate people. Well, it’s not just that I hate them. I mean, I totally do. In fact, I’ve been thinking of putting it in the WTF, just so there’s no confusion. No what it is, is the fact that you slimy, mucus-excreting, bacteria crucibles don’t know how to cover your gdammed mouths when you sneeze.

My wife is a doctor. A pediatric resident. That means she sees kids. Sick kids. All day, every day. And then she comes home and hugs me. Do you know how many times, since medical school, we’ve been able to trace a cold I caught to her work? Maybe twice.

She works in an environment where they catch this “everything and the kitchen sink” variety of illness they term “pede-rot” and make fun of the fact that they’ll all catch MERSA, which is an acronym that loosely translates into “super virus culled from the dark necrotic pit of the devourer of worlds, which will slowly disassemble your body from the inside out”. But I’ve avoided them all.

But you. You festering pot of barely evolved protoplasm. One fucking sneeze. One nose wipe with your stupid fucking fingerless gloves which you then rub all over the subway car pole like a penniless stripper who has to make rent by 9am tomorrow. You manage to do me in every winter.

And they’re not bacteria, explains The doctor Wife, no no. These are viruses. Can’t do anything about viruses. We can cure testicular cancer with a 98% rate of success now, but we can’t clear your left nostril. Now come here and give me a hug.

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