Yesterday, I had pink eye. This is, on the scale of diseases one can have, pretty far down the list; you go to the doctor, the doctor confirms you have pink eye, he gives you some meds and things start clearing up within a few hours. As long as you have basic medical services at your disposal, there are far more painful and permanent afflictions to fret over.
Which is why I’d like everyone that knows I had pink eye yesterday to stop treating me like a fucking leper. (One guy gets an excuse; he has a newborn at home. I’d feel terrible if I somehow passed the devil’s eye on to his son.) The rest of you, the ones who would be cured in a matter of minutes if need be? I promise you won’t choke if you approach my cubicle, nor will you begin forming bubonic regions in your lymph nodes if you sit down next to me on the couch. Really, I promise.
You won’t even really feel sick — your eye will get itchy for a little bit, and you’ll get to take a day off work without your entire body feeling like it got hit by a thousand penny-filled socks. Who wouldn’t want that?
