There's another reason I hate flying. I get sick.
When the world ends in the great future pandemic (that the CDC says is only a matter of time), I take great comfort in knowing that I'll be dead in the first wave, if not the actual "patient zero."
Within 6 hours of stepping out of that toxic soup can that we call an airplane, I knew I was doomed. The scratchy throat, the head congestion. My boss looked at me with concern.
"This happens every time?" She asked. I nodded my head in affirmation.
"Yep. Change my environment and I become of puddle of diseased misery."
I don't fly often enough to remember this happens, UNTIL it happens. My last trip was probably over 5 years ago. My boss is a frequent flyer though. I suppose you have to build up resistance to all the bacteria floating around inside those things.
"We need to pump some vitamins in you." She said, recommending a product called Airborne
"I think it's too late for that. Plus we've got the return flight tomorrow." I said.
Back in Charlotte, when we finished up our surgery day yesterday, the Doctor I work for said "Boy...you're sounding rough. Your eyes are glassy too."
"Anyway I can get Workmans Comp?" I inquired, envisioning leisurely living for my pain and suffering.
Needless to say, I'll be spending my weekend Kleenex in hand, cup of cocoa beside me, with puppies on my lap.
I suppose there's worse ways to die.