II. God Bless You
When I sneeze, and particularly when I really get going, the only thing I want is for it to stop. All of my desires are pointed in that one direction. But if I have just enough hubris to identify one other thing I’d like in that moment, it’s to be left the fuck alone.
One sneeze? Okay, fine, whatever. But I dare say, nothing is more demanding of my attention that a real sneezing fit. And more often than not, one sneeze is not nearly enough with me.
But of course it can’t be that simple. No one can seem to afford me the simple dignity of just leaving me alone to deal with that which is consuming me against my will.
Based on the Wikipedia entry for “Responses to Sneezing,” it seems like the practice of people saying something to you after you sneeze is a damn near universal social phenomenon. But, ya know, so is war.
And to be perfectly blunt, I think I’d rather be drafted into the military then have to listen to one more well meaning person, who’s good intentions are paving a road right through my own personal Hell, say “God bless you” after I sneeze.
I suppose this is the point when the readers of this snot-stained diatribe are inclined throws up their hands and says, Enough is enough! After all, what kind of misanthropic monster speaks ill of those who only wish him well?
I plead guilty to the misanthropy, in a general sense. You suck. I mean, maybe not you personally. Hopefully not. Probably not. But you in the second person plural, for which English only has slang. Y’all. Youns. All a yous. Humanity writ large. You suck. Christ, just look around. How else can you explain the utter shit hole this planet is becoming? Who you gonna blame? The fuckin’ elephants?
Anyway, here’s the thing. As you might have figured out by now, I’m not usually the person who offers up a dainty “ah-choo” into a Kleenex, followed by a polite sniffle, and then calls it a day. No. I’m the miserable fuck who opens up a machine gun’s worth of rat-a-tat-tat, sneeze after sneeze after sneeze, again, again, again, expelling what seems like every last droplet of moisture and whiff of air in a Wagnerian crescendo of nasal tympani and horns.
Bang!
-God bless you.
-Th-Thank you . . .
Bang!
-God bless you again.
-Uh, uh, uh, uh
Bang!
-Oh Dear . . .
Holy shit, would you fuck off already! Can’t you see I’m fucking busy? And not in some pleasurably perverse kinda way, but in that relentless My-Face-is-Fucking-Exploding kinda way.
How fucking selfish are you that you have to demandingly insert yourself into my misery just so you can make yourself feel better by pretending to offer me solace as my nose bursts like a string of firecrackers.
And make no mistake. It is demanding. Because if I don’t respond with a “Thank you,” or physically acknowledge you in some way, then all of a sudden I’m the asshole here. If I don’t go out of my way to graciously accept your unwanted charity, then I’m the selfish prick. If I ignore you, some goddamn stranger on the street, and instead devote my attention to grappling with my head’s version of the bombing of Dresden, then somehow I’m the one in the wrong.
How fucked up is that?
And why the hell are you doing this anyway? Do you really think I need the goodwill of some invisible deity on high, lest this sneeze be the first step on my inexorable path towards Death’s door? And if somehow, beyond reason, that’s the case, do you also believe your idle supplication to Him will result in just su
ch a blessing, perhaps because you’ve got a better broadband connection to Heaven than I do, or maybe because my own entreaties to Him, and indeed those from everyone who actually knows me, are doomed to fall on deaf ears?
Or are you just being “nice” by mindlessly adhering to an archaic social rite that’s actually making the situation worse, not better? Because I can’t help but notice that you don’t habitually offer any trite clichés that implicitly demand a canned reciprocation to complete strangers when they happen to cough or wheeze or get bitten by a mosquito or stub a toe.
Cause ya know, that would just be weird, now wouldn’t it.
Tomorrow concludes are feverish discussion of sneezing.