Spring is slowly arriving and students at San Diego State all know what that means. Upon realizing how little time we have left in the semester, we all start studying again. Girls around campus start wearing shorts again - with flip-flops instead of UGGs - and we can all say goodbye to the cold and flu season. With this, we say good riddance to the most hated creature of the season - the snifflers. I don't care if you come to class with mononucleosis, SARS or rickets. As long as you are not sniffling, you may sit by me. And just to cover all bases, let's not forget the bastard brother of the sniffler: the cougher. Looks like sniffler's dad couldn't keep it in his pants. What is it about the unwarranted intakes and exhalations of breath that make me cringe the way I thought only Simon Cowell's too-tight T-shirts could? Sorry, but if I have to spend my Monday from 4 to 6:40 p.m. listening to your sniffling nose, you better prepare yourself for some looks that are dirtier than the ones I give people at Sunset Strips when my friend gets more fries than me. If I were afraid of getting sick, I'd get a flu shot - but I'm not. You know the type: Kleenex on their desk, pale looking, pointed tail peeking out from behind. The most annoying trait of snifflers is their tendency to sit too far away for me to be able to kick them in the shin. The story of one sniffler and cougher mutt sticks out in my mind like a frat boy at church. I once saw a play in England on a field trip with my theater class at the Royal Shakespeare Company. My classmate, Shmolly Shmong, was coughing up a storm every three minutes in the second row. If I were the actor standing three yards away (or meters, crazy chaps across the pond), I would have slapped dear Shmolly with the greasy piece of newspaper from my fish and chips. As you may have noticed, the infirm bring out my violent side. But perhaps this stems from the old "survival of the fittest" theory. With the slightest whiff of Chlorasceptic, my nostrils perk up and my neck hairs stand on end - a weak member of the species is near. After cleaning my paws and rubbing myself against the side of my desk, I resume the hunt. There it is, two seats behind me on the right. She may as well be a gazelle with an injured leg - this is too easy. I let out a deafening roar, which results in the professor pausing her lecture to stare at me. Not again. I guess the only way I can end this is by trying to help rid you of the sniffles. Play six instead of 10-cup beer pong and lay off the illegal habits. And by that I mean stop jaywalking - you could be hit by a car. Also, if you skip the chicken soup and end up going to La Casita's (although not the wisest, it's definitely the most delicious of your choices), please don't come to class. If I wanted to get sick I'd go to Señor Pancho's. -Tanya Dracolakis is a humanities senior. -This column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Daily Aztec.
The Daily Aztec > The Back Page
GRAB A TISSUE: Downfall of the snifflers
Published: Saturday, March 22, 2008
Updated: Sunday, October 12, 2008
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