The (un)common cold

The common cold is pretty common, say around twice or thrice a year, for most people. That is the time for runny noses, watery eyes, congestion, hoarse voices, and an abundant use of tissues and kerchiefs.

It goes somewhat like this – “Atishoo. “Scuse me. Sniff Sniff. Thank you (when you extend a welcome tissue).”

However, this blog post is not about these regular people, who are assaulted by the twice-a-year-common-cold. This post is about that breed of people who suffer from a perpetual cold, and who go about, sniffing their way through, the entire year round.

They give a whole new perspective to runny noses. Sounds of all kinds escape from their noses, many of which often causing the hearers to give looks alternating between horror and disdain. Sniff sniff sniff – they go at regular intervals, almost akin to a hurt child or a puppy left out in the cold by its inconsiderate master. Their snuffles only get louder, when they realize that they have an audience. That the audience is loathing them, is only incidental. Their sneezes happen at such an alarming regularity that you run out of the "God Bless Yous," alternating them with the "Oh God, not another one pleases."

Slime green seems to their favorite color, what with the occasional uhmmm you-know-what making an odd entry into the ever-open tissue. The very sight of that gooooey phlegm is enough to make even the strongest of men nauseous, and ready to swoon.

Then there is the case of the cough. It starts as a slow, hollow, dry one, like a sheep’s almost, increasing in intensity, till it wipes out all other sounds, leaving the hearer with a pained look on his face, an aching desire to erase the offending sound, and a longing for the monkey cap that one stopped wearing years ago. Even those gaily-colored muffins would have come in handy, if only to hold to your ears.

So there you are, sitting around a table with some people, trying to enjoy your meal. Ha! Easier said than done. The guy sitting right across you has a permanent cold, and insists on sniffling sixteen times in every sentence.

Making you look miserably into your hot and sour soup, and wishing you could drain it all down his throat. Might just help the dratted guy.

Atishoooooooooo. There he goes YET again.

Oh hell. Time for another trip to the washroom – the only place of solace for you.

Run! Run! Unless you are up for another display of the greenish liquid.

Blech!