I was wrapping up things at the automatic teller machine when I realized that I needed to see a bank teller about something. Simultaneously, I felt the kind of tickle in my nose that indicated that I was about to sneeze.

It felt like a teensy tickle, the sort of sneeze that is easily supressed into an almost silent ladylike "kerchew" so I turned from the machine to join the line for the tellers. It was at that exact moment that the sneeze morphed into a situation that can only be described by the words Thar She Blows.

A just, benevolent universe would only allow me to sneeze like this in an almost empty bank, an almost empty bank where the tellers are deeply absorbed in their work and completely oblivious to the situation at hand.

Do I live in such a universe?

No, no I do not.

You'd think that the universe could at least cut me a little slack and make the line to the tellers extremely short so that there would be a huge distance between the next person in the line and I.

Do I live in such a universe?

No, no I do not.

Okay, so the universe has decided that I will emit a big honking sneeze. Not only will I emit this sneeze, but I'm going to do it in a bank full of people which means There Is Going To Be At Least One Random, Senseless Drive-By Snotting.

You'd think the universe could at least throw me the bone of making the line full of people I do not know, people involved in intense conversations that leave them oblivious to everything around them.

Do I live in such a universe?

No, no I do not.

So right at the moment when I joined the line, right at the moment I realized I was in a Thar She Blows situation, my neighbour Russell from down the road turned to say hello. My hands full with my purse and parcels, I struggled to shield him with what I was carrying from the shockwaves of the blast. I think I got most of it, but I'm not sure.

There was an awkward silence.

I mean, what DO you say at this point?

"Sorry about the snot?"

"Don't worry, mucus washes wonderfully?"

As I reflected on my options, I noticed that Russell was wearing a green plaid shirt. The universe had tossed me one crumb--if my nostrils had fired The Heavy Artillery (aka boogers) those puppies were deeply, deeply camouflaged.

Oh be quiet.

Like you've never worried about booger bombs.

The awkward pause was incredibly brief. In a split second Russell and I simultaneously decided To Treat This Like The Adults We Are.

Yes, we pretended nothing had happened.

This was really quite a feat, considering that I was busily rummaging in my purse for a kleenex to mop up any after effects. Believe me, there was no way I was not going for the kleenex. If there's one thing I DO know about the universe, it's that if the universe has the chance to leave me with some nostril-related substance about the size of an outhouse door swinging from the end of my nose, it will do this.

I casually mopped up.

"So, uh, how are you?" Russell bravely asked.

I briefly considered making some cheap SARS-related joke because I do love the gallows humour, but decided that a little frank honesty might be wise.

"I'm fine except for the cold I seem determined to pass on to you."

He remarked that I had done a fine job, indeed, with my cold passing on efforts and with that we both ruefully grinned and made small talk. I did my best not to check out his shirt for nostril-related heavy artillery because, well, I'm not sure I could have convincingly masked my horror had I spotted any.

The moral of the story?

Really, I can't think of one. If you can, let me know.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 234.48 miles (377.3 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers