The Cougher

We are not germaphobes. We do not carry around little Purell bottles thinking that they will protect us from all the germs. We do not open the bathroom door with our paper towels or only fist bump because we’re scared to touch other people. But we all have our limits and there are specific places that are grosser than others.

For one, commuting on public transit is gross. All that recycled air and people in close proximity. This is especially true in the winter when everyone is a little sick.

The worst though, is when you hear someone coughing. And I’m not talking about clearing your throat coughing (that’s a future article), but a sick cough that just won’t stop. Everyone is silently pleading with him to take a cough drop or a sip of water or to jump off the fucking train before everyone gets sick.

But one time, it wasn’t just one time.

The Story of The Cougher

Jamming on an NJ Transit train every day, especially in the winter, and you know you’re bound to get sick. There’s no way around it. Even though we both have relatively good immune systems and rarely get sick, it’s unavoidable when you work in an office all day and take the trains to and from.

One day this winter, someone started coughing.

Of course, this is natural. But it’s so much worse in the winter because you’re seeing everyone around you get sick. Your neighbor, your boss, your friend. The guy who sits next to you at work. Everyone seems sick. And it always seems like you’re one wrong move away from getting it.

Plus, the trains are always so hot with the heat cranked up and the people jammed in the car standing right on top of each other.

It’s a breeding ground for germs.

And then one day a couple weeks ago, this person won’t stop coughing.

Cough. Cough. Cough.

Worse and worse and worse.

Please, I think to myself. Let this person get off at the next stop. But I know he won’t. Besides the last stop in Hoboken, Newark Broad is the only other stop people get off at in the morning.

And still the person keeps coughing.

Cough. Cough. Cough.

I’m trying to work, trying to keep my mind occupied. But at this point all I can think about are the little particles of spittle floating through the air targeting my little corner as though I’ve been that germ’s mission the whole time. And the damn isn’t close to either.

It goes on for the rest of the trip, probably a half hour of coughing and coughing and coughing.

I’m glad to get off the train in Hoboken. Hell, it crossed my mind to get off at Newark and just hop on the next train to Hoboken. But, luckily I realized that was a stupid idea before I did it.

Day Two

The next day, the same thing. A little less than halfway through the trip and hear the cough. The same damn cough. On and on.

Dude, I think to myself, you should stay the fuck home from work. You’re contaminating half the metro area right now. Stop being so selfish.

At this point, I’m thinking that within three days, I’m waking up sick. No doubt. So, I do what any normal person would do.

I start planning my revenge.

I figure by the time I’m full-on sick, this guy will have recovered. But I’m going to find him and I’m going to sit next to him and I’m going to cough in his face the whole damn train ride because that what it seems like he’s doing to me. Might as well be blowing his nose on my damn shirtsleeve.

And again, the whole train ride he coughs and spews his spittle into the hot air of the train car.

That day, I stayed late at work and then grabbed a couple beers afterwards, so I didn’t catch the train until 9 o’clock. It’s the late train and there’s very few people on it compared to the peak hours.

I’m feeling good after the beers and just kind of plop down in a seat. Within a couple minutes, I hear the cough. The same damn cough from the past two mornings.

Son of a bitch. This guy is like a sniper. What have I done to deserve this?

I stand up to put my bag on the luggage rack above, but really I’m just making an excuse to scope out the situation.

The guy is three rows in front of me in one of the awkward seat structures that face both directions instead of the front and he’s facing me.

His eyes are bloodshot, his face is flushed, and he’s sweating. He’s got the god-damn flu and he’s on this train coughing and coughing and coughing, trying to cover his mouth but really he’s just leaving his arm in front of his mouth because he won’t stop coughing.

Now, I think, the fucking train hasn’t even left the station yet. I have at least a half hour with this guy locked in the same car.

I think about moving. But I don’t. I’m not going to move. He should move. Other people move. They can feel the spittle wavering in the forced heat and loud conversations of the late train.

I’m not moving.

The man coughs for about 20 minutes of the half hour he was on the train.

Two Days Later

Two days later, a Friday afternoon of all times, I feel the scratch in the back of my throat. It’s coming. He got me. I don’t feel up to going out with coworkers for Friday Happy Hour. I just want to get home.

Saturday I wake up and it’s a full-on cold. Now I’m coughing, spewing my germs around the apartment. I want to find that guy, the damn cougher, and tell him that he’s Patient Zero. He’s the God-damn monkey from Outbreak.

But I know it’s not true. He got sick from someone else and that person got sick from someone else. It goes around and around. But he still shouldn’t have been riding the damn train sweating out his germs in public.

The only thing I can do now is get Jess sick. And I’ve always been pretty damn good at that.