Sick?

Sick?   No, can't be.   I really don't remember the last time I had a cold.   Trying to remember what it's like is kind of weird.   Not that I haven't been ill during that period of time.   But this is the first snotty, coughing, sneezing, wheezing, just let's stop here a minute and sit down, kind of of a cold in at least 6 or 7 years.   We had to go to Chedurai today.  I have been waking up in coughing and full blast nose blowing mode for the last few days.   Usually a few cups of full caffeine Mexican coffee brewed with our super deluxe bottled water has done the trick and we have been off and running in no time.   Not today.  

 

Not that there were not magnificent occurrences today.  There were.   The condo buildings are arraigned in sort of a wedge formation.   The four buildings surround our pool and palapa.   A little alley bisects the rectangle of our lot.  It leads from the street to the pool and separates buildings B and C.   There and on the corners of each building is where the sewer runs.   Rather than use a round manhole the builder has utilized these square lid things that cover a collection box where the sewer pipe changes pitch or direction.   And that is where about 8 or 9 of us gathered this morning, when the exterminator showed up, to witness Cucaracha Carnage.    They were gigantic, red, winged bastards which scurried willy nilly when he applied the poison.   It was quite a sight.   The Insectador went from one box to the next on his murderous rounds followed by a small crowd of maniacally grinning North Americans carrying their morning coffee or cocktail while enjoying the sociability and witnessing the macabre scene unfolding inside the roaches private, fresh, hell.

 

The next fantastic thing was the return of the water guy.   He is now trained to bring our 20L jug of water up the steps and carry it into the laundry room.   That is the coolest thing ever for  22 pesos, about $1.82usd or $2 with tip.

 

Anyway, we need more coffee.   So we went to the supermarket, and I almost had to just sit down and take a nap right there.  The realization came to me in a moment of clarity,  I am sick.   Hey, this is Mexico, they have all kinds of over the counter medicines.   Where is the pharmacy department?   The guy at the supermarket drug store rattled off some rapid fire Mexican gibberish as I coughed and thumped my chest pantomiming plague.    Blah hoogie aloogn humma druwo boohaha grip?   Yeah, that's a word I know, grip, except they spell it with an e at the end.  He reaches way over the counter toward my knees and grabs a bottle of Latin American NyQuil from my side of the display.  Esta?   No, anti-biotico, por favor.   Ah!   Si.  he is off behind the counter like a shot, searching the rows of shelves for a specific box.  Aqui, senor, he points to the box he retrieved, obviously pleased with himself and his diagnosis, Bristol-Myers Squibb.   That's a good sign.   Ampicilina.   Ah ha, Ampicilin!  Here we go.   Let's see if it works.   I feel like hell.

from March 10 2010