Catching a Cold

I have a head cold this week. I caught it at the weekend when I went somewhere that was infested with children. Now I didn’t know it would be infested with children before I went, otherwise I’d have called the pest extermination service and had it dealt with prior to my arrival. As it was, clearly one of the unruly devil spawn had a cold and I was infected with it.
I’m not the sort of man who makes out that every sniffle is rampant nose cancer and I might die of mucul haemorrhaging at any moment, although I don’t entirely discount the possibility. In fact, since I am afflicted with a cough as well as a cold this time, I’m probably far more likely to have lung cancer. Not that I smoke but here in the UK, we have banned smoking from all indoor public places - pubs, restaurants, and a myriad of other locations I would never set foot in willingly - forcing smokers to go outside when they want to light up. This transfers smoke from the sorts of places I don’t visit, to put it outdoors, where I can hardly avoid it. So lung cancer is a distinct possibility now.
Whether it proves fatal or not, having a cold is not fun. Generating enough snot to float a small navy is most certainly not on my good-times list. So it follows that those who spread colds around - like the juvenile Satan that gave this one to me - should be treated as outcasts and, although I don’t necessarily agree with the death penalty, it is difficult to argue against why anyone in a public place with a cold shouldn’t be gunned down on sight. Apparently, this is a minority view.
In fact, in my experience, most people who venture out with any form of illness short of bubonic plague expect to be congratulated for it, as if infecting half the world with their ailment is their gift to humanity. Some people with colds even look at their handkerchiefs when they have blown their noses into them, as if somehow the slime they have ejected from their nasal cavity might have formed into a work of art on the damp scrap of material they hold in their hand. Once, I even had someone show me their revolting discharge, as they thought it was so impressive, and, no, I am sadly not joking.
How many times have I sat next to someone, only to be regaled with how they struggled out of bed, having hacked up half a lung in the process, and dragged themselves to my side spewing out their germs to all and sundry in great surges of spittle. Then they expect me to say how brave they are and how grateful I am that they made the effort when all I really want to do is to shoot them in the head.
If people with colds confined themselves to social isolation, we would quickly eradicate the virus, and winter would be ailment free. We did it with leprosy. If we herded anyone with a cold into groups and moved them offshore for a week or so, and then insisted they rang a bell before they entered a public place for a few weeks thereafter, it should be more than sufficient.
As for me, I’ll continue to drink plenty of fluids, although I’m not sure why as I just pour them into my mouth and they pour straight back out of my nose (and, no, I’m not standing on my head when this happens), and wait for my next Paracetemol fix. Two hours, thirty-nine minutes, and twelve seconds to go. Not that I’m counting.
And then, when I’m recovered, I’m going to buy a job lot of surgical masks, or maybe a gas mask, and wear it every time I go out. Maybe whilst holding a sign that reads ‘No, I’m not impressed that you struggled out of bed to come here and blow snot and spittle across my face. If it were up to me, I’d have you garrotted and buried in quick lime’.
Do excuse me now as I need to blow my nose, again.

How Not to Make Friends and Influence People

Dale Carnegie once wrote a hugely influential book entitled How to Win Friends and Influence People. This technique was not in it.
I have someone who is (or rather, was) trying to befriend me. We’ll call him Friendly Guy or FG for short. Befriending someone with Aspergers is not easy. The rules are a little different. For a start, contact of any form is best avoided. Telephone calls are unwelcome, email an inconvenience, and as for visiting. Don’t even think about it.
So it was with a degree of disbelief that I had a knock on the door one afternoon and found FG standing there, having, apparently, just called round for a visit. Called round for a visit? That doesn’t compute in the Asperger brain. He might as well have napalmed the building, machine-gunned the livestock, and sodomised the dog. It would have been no worse (except perhaps for the dog). Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.
Not wishing to strike an unnecessary melodramatic note by dropping dead of shock, I punched my heart several times to ensure it kept beating.
As it was pouring with rain, FG asked if he could maybe stand somewhere out of the wet. Fair enough, I thought, and missing entirely the implication that he wanted to actually enter my house, I suggested that we stood under an adjacent tree. After all, the rain was marginally less heavy beneath its branches.
I reached for my jacket and wide-brimmed-hat and walked with FG to the tree. It was raining so hard, we were soaked by the time we got to it. FG suggested that maybe he should retrieve his jacket from the car and I agreed that it might be a good idea.
By the time he returned, his clothes were sticking to his body. I watched as rivulets poured across his head and down his neck.
I asked what it was he wanted and he tried to start a conversation. I say tried as it was hard to hear him with the noise of the rain bouncing off the ground around us.
After a few desultory words, he suggested that maybe he should go. Brilliant idea.
But if he only wanted to stay for a few minutes, why did he bother coming in the first place? Was it really worth getting all wet for that?
This new friend business is so darned weird.

Cars That Bounce By Themselves: An Asperger Approach

One of the drawbacks of living in a remote place is that we get cars parked at the top of the track leading down to the house that seem to bounce around, all on their own. I wouldn’t mind except that the occupants of the bouncing car clearly think that our track also doubles as a public tip and they generally leave their rubbish behind. The usual leftover accoutrements to a romantic stay include tissues, condoms, coffee cups, and cigarette packets but we have also found a baby’s bib, which I thought was taking protection a little too far.
So it was with sinking heart that I returned from walking the dog one afternoon (we’ll call him Mabon, since that’s his name) to find another bouncing car enjoying the scenery at the top of our track. Or rather not enjoying the scenery as it was pouring with rain and all the windows had steamed up.
Not wanting to just squeeze past the car without at least making my presence known, I swung open the driver’s door to find said driver in a state of some exertion with a woman straddling his lap. They looked rather surprised to be interrupted so I said a cheery ‘Hello’ to put them at their ease. I then asked if maybe they were waiting for me since they had parked at the top of the track to my house.
The couple clearly considered me completely insane and they mumbled a negative response. Oh, I replied, perhaps it was engine trouble they were having. Apparently it wasn’t.
Just then Mabon bounded up to say hello. Now Mabon is not a small dog. Reaching chest height on most people, he stuck his entire upper body into the car. Given that it was pouring with rain, this caused a small waterfall to run across the interior. At the appearance of Mabon, the woman, as delicately as she was able to under the circumstances, extracted herself for the man’s lap and moved to the passenger side of the car. This had the effect of leaving her partner’s rapidly wilting manhood flapping around like an epileptic sausage inches away from Mabon’s mouth.
With a feeding instinct stretching back to the primeval wolf, Mabon lunged, just as the man covered his now peanut-sized manhood with his partner’s top. The snap of Mabon’s jaws echoed across the valley as his head, fuelled by unstoppable trajectory, came to land in the man’s lap. Now, if you were that close to a dog who had just attempted to bite your dick off, you’d probably be extremely nice and so the man was, giving Mabon a kindly pat and remarking what a good dog he was. The woman, dressing herself on the passenger seat, was silent. Maybe she wasn’t a dog person.
Having now thoroughly flooded the inside of the car and almost emasculated its owner, to say nothing of the initial coitus interruptus, I thought the time had come to depart. Offering a cheery ‘Goodbye’ and remembering to add the usual ‘Nice to have met you’ (such things do not come naturally to an Asperger person so I hope they appreciated the effort) I dragged the now salivating Mabon out of the vehicle and gently closed the door.
Almost at once, I heard the woman’s high-pitched voice berating her partner and, despite the windows still being completely steamed up, the car drove away. I do hope the driver zipped himself up first. And, funnily enough, they have never been back. Shame really, after all the effort I put into getting to know them.