“Sputum? Damn near killed ’im...”
I’m sitting here in my little Home Away From Home at the headquarters of the Great Corporate Salt Mine in Sweat City...and I feel like ass.
Monday morning, I awoke with an ominous tickle in the back of my throat, the opening Shot Across the Bow in the latest Battle of the Respiratory System. Crap.
Crap, indeed, for I had several critical meetings scheduled this week at various Texas outposts of the Great Corporate Salt Mine. To miss the meetings would delay my projects for several weeks, and so I decided to tough it out and make the trip.
Big mistake.
The trip on the Silver Aerial Bus was OK, all things considered. The flight was oversold - an omen I chose to ignore - and I ended up wedged into a center exit row seat thanks to several people who volunteered to take the next flight. Being in the exit row meant there was decent legroom despite my being crammed between two fellow passengers...but the lemon-ginger tea I gulped down did little to soothe my throat, which was growing more tender by the minute.
The penalty for flying with even a mild case of the Stuffies, of course, is the ol’ “Ten Pounds of Cotton Wool in a Five-PoundSack Head” syndrome. It took until late in the evening for that obnoxious semi-deaf feeling to ease up. I elected to hit the sack early and dope myself up heavily with ComaQuil™, thus ensuring a moderately restless night followed by a woozy morning.
By now, my throat felt as though I had been gargling with hydrochloric acid. With a ground glass chaser. I had also developed what the sawbones likes to call a “productive cough.” That’s when you hock up great, green gouts of loogage at frequent intervals. And it was in that condition that I plowed through two presentations, the second of which required a ninety-mile round trip to the east side of town. Sweet.
Afterwards, it was straight to bed. I didn’t even bother to order up a room service dinner. Sleep was fitful.
Aggggh. Just a few more hours and a couple more meetings, and I can get on the Silver Aerial Bus and go home.
I’m sitting here in my little Home Away From Home at the headquarters of the Great Corporate Salt Mine in Sweat City...and I feel like ass.
Monday morning, I awoke with an ominous tickle in the back of my throat, the opening Shot Across the Bow in the latest Battle of the Respiratory System. Crap.
Crap, indeed, for I had several critical meetings scheduled this week at various Texas outposts of the Great Corporate Salt Mine. To miss the meetings would delay my projects for several weeks, and so I decided to tough it out and make the trip.
Big mistake.
The trip on the Silver Aerial Bus was OK, all things considered. The flight was oversold - an omen I chose to ignore - and I ended up wedged into a center exit row seat thanks to several people who volunteered to take the next flight. Being in the exit row meant there was decent legroom despite my being crammed between two fellow passengers...but the lemon-ginger tea I gulped down did little to soothe my throat, which was growing more tender by the minute.
The penalty for flying with even a mild case of the Stuffies, of course, is the ol’ “Ten Pounds of Cotton Wool in a Five-Pound
By now, my throat felt as though I had been gargling with hydrochloric acid. With a ground glass chaser. I had also developed what the sawbones likes to call a “productive cough.” That’s when you hock up great, green gouts of loogage at frequent intervals. And it was in that condition that I plowed through two presentations, the second of which required a ninety-mile round trip to the east side of town. Sweet.
Afterwards, it was straight to bed. I didn’t even bother to order up a room service dinner. Sleep was fitful.
Aggggh. Just a few more hours and a couple more meetings, and I can get on the Silver Aerial Bus and go home.
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