A package with a tablet was delivered to my door a week ago.
The thing came in what appeared to be simple cardboard, rugged but still nothing that would require a claw hammer or the Jaws of Life to open.
My normal routine for these sorts of jobs is to get started with scissors or a knife, then just reach in and rip the cardboard to pieces.
It doesn’t care.
I managed to pry a gash in the box, stuck my right arm in the hole and yanked with all my strength.
It’s probably worth mentioning at this point that, to get maximum leverage, you need to pull the opening TOWARD you.
I was thinking, “This is some tough cardboard,” when suddenly the entire side of the computer-shaped package came flying apart.
With my power (such as it is) helping along, a corner of the packaging zoomed straight at my heart.
IF IT had been a bullet, you wouldn’t be reading this now.
Even so, the thing hit me with quite a jolt, right on my breastbone.
Quite rationally, I screamed, “Yee-oww” — along with a stream of words not fit for a family newspaper.
After a quick check to make sure the side of the package wasn’t sticking out of my chest, I rubbed the thing for a while, took care that it hadn’t pierced my heart …
And moved on with life.
Then on Monday, I felt my head get stuffy and my nose started running.
Ah, more vitamins C and D, as Mom used to say.
Tea and honey.
Keep the Kleenex handy.
I’ve got this covered.
BUT AFTER another 24 hours, I woke up and felt weak.
You know, that rubbery sensation in your limbs.
Not only that, but I was sweaty. And then I went from awfully hot toward way too cold.
Sammie the World’s Greatest Cat, who normally stays faithfully with me when I’m not feeling too spiffy, quietly excused herself to go lie in front of the heater.
Each winter, our ever-cautious boss suggests strongly that everyone get flu shots.
I respectfully decline, because I have a massive case of needle phobia — to the point that I turn green and faint if I see someone getting an injection on TV.
IN PERSON, it’s brutal.
I’ve run yelling from hospitals, with that silly little gown flapping in the wind.
Just to have back fusion surgery, the anesthesia crew agreed to knock me out with gas before I was even allowed the sight of an IV.
So I don’t get flu shots.
It’s silly, because I haven’t gotten the flu …
Which brings us to the crisis that’s already made you cringe.
It felt like someone was driving a stake through my chest each time.
Now I’m guzzling medicine that tastes like candy, and throwing down some Pepto-Bismol for good measure.
Yes, boss …
Next year for the flu shot.
I am now a believer.
Steve Cameron is a columnist for The Press.
A Brand New Day appears from Wednesday through Saturday each week.
Steve’s “Zags Tracker” column on Gonzaga basketball runs on Tuesday.