I'm sitting here at work, looking out my window at Highway 101 and I realize I'm actually in a different landscape. Beyond rolling green hills and scampering wittle bunny wabbits. Beyond various eruptions of vague movie lines and the "One Day At A Time" theme song. Yes, even beyond the silky smooth Land of Ricola.
How is it a person's nose can be stopped up and running profusely at the same time?!? Riddle me that, Batman!
I've been a good boy: given the homeless change, helped my fellow man, not laughed at the ridiculous haircut a coworker recently got. Hell, I even bought some Girl Scout cookies last week! So why am I cursed with this plague, this fountain which doth flow from my nose?!?
I finally gave in. I stopped nursing the box of tissues at my desk like it's the last Bass Ale on the planet and walked over to Pay Less for some "Olfactory Healin" (sang like the chorus of "Sexual Healin"). I went in search of a tiny pill that costs more than it's weight in gold.
After spending a good 20 minutes trying to translate the various features on the Wall of Drugs, asking myself questions like, "Is my nose stopped up, or just runny? Both? Do I have watery eyes? Is this a flu thing? An allergy thing? Do I really need 800 cotton balls?" I've had a few people around the office mention some Wonder Drug that is supposed to heal my pain. A pill brought down from the heavens on the back of a golden swan. I ask where can I buy the drug and they say (nonchalantly, of course) "Oh, it's prescription only..." Great. God hates me. I couldn't muster up enough strength to ask for a pill from their stash, for fear of being given something else like Prozac or birth control, which might throw of my wonderful sense of timing when dancing to "Tequila!" I also need to avoid the Drowsy Pills, since they knock me on my ass and I become even more useless at work (which is a pretty damn impressive sight if you ask me!)
So I'm standing there, looking at the vast rows of pills, tablets, gel tabs, caplets, gel caps, liquids, and nose sprays thinking, "This is a nightmare... Looking for a cure is just about as mind racking as the Nose Issues themselves! I could just kill myself right here and be done with it!"
I settle on a box of Sudafed. I get past the tiny size, past the scary red "suicide pill" color and buy a box. No time for generic, this stuff has got to work right away. I don't want to take any chances, we're talking a life or death situation here. I'm ready to snort these bad boys directly into my nasal cavity if it means they'd kick in faster.
I walk out. In the parking lot I pop a pair of pills. I fire off a quick prayer to the Pharmaceutical Gods, hoping they hear me and respond to my need for relief. I promise I'll pay more for the name brand stuff. I promise to take medication even when I don't need it, because I want to show them I believe. I'm ready. I want to breathe through my nose, cast aside my box of Kleenex. I'd like a one-way ticket to the Land of Decongested Nasal Passages. The cost? $4.99.
"This is your pilot, Captain Pseudoephedrine Hydrochloride, speaking..."