Daily Dose

"On hearing this, Jesus said to them, "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners." Mark 2:17

Get thee to a sanitarium.

The New York City Subway system has 468 stations, this being the largest public transit system in the world. According to the MTA ridership facts, the New York City subway hosts approximately 5,225,675 commuters on an average weekday. During cold and flu season that means a whole lotta nasty petri dishes called people, full of germs.

The Experts are saying just the mere sight of flu symptoms heightens our anxiety and changes our social behavior...and now the proof.

At the beginning of November, two women made headlines by partaking in a hygienically filthy fight on the subway. Spawned by fear of the Swine Flu a woman told another to cover her mouth, with that the "under the weather" gal spat in the concerned face, in which the offended now covered in infectious snot decked the cougher in her runny nose and both had to be physically separated at the next stop.

In the last week, I too have witnessed outward cat fights erupt over a sneeze into a shoulder and a side cough to the persons right side while the other packed in tightly sardines hold their breath and try to turn away from the ill-will.

Today, with fists clenched and a rather fragile immune system (maybe standing in a freezing cold warehouse breathing Denis Leary's cigarette smoke for nine hours played a part) I rode the 2 Express.

Now picture this, a man gets on, hovers over me, expels loudly into his right hand and then reaches for the bar directly above my head with the same hand. I grimace.

While holding the often fondled pole, he sneezes mostly into his left hand, the rest goes into my lap. He then takes that wet hand and grabs for support, his contaminated and now infectious right hand goes into his pocket. I look up. He snorts loudly and then smiles a flirtatious smile.

Without saying a word or throwing an elbow, I raise my glasses and give him what Motley Crue would call, a look that kills.

He takes his H1N1 hands, stuffs them into his pockets, walks away to suffer silently in the corner.

I breathe easier.

Only the strong survive right?