I Need A Surrogate Sufferer.

“No one can feel as helpless as the owner of a sick goldfish.” Kin Hubbard

Cold season os upon us and, like any sane person dealing with this, I’m looking for volunteers. Remember the Green Mile where John Coffey cures Paul Edgecomb’s bladder infection by absorbing it into his own body? That’s the kind of selfless act I’m looking for, a surrogate sufferer. I don’t care if he or she is an axe murderer or a Republican. Obviously you can’t have everything, especially when you’re sick and look horrendous.

Having said that, it’s not easy finding a surrogate sufferer. Either they’ve got their own colds, or they haven’t murdered enough people. I even checked out surrogate sufferers on the internet. Not a single taker, even when I offered up all my worldly possessions (an old car and some moth-eaten comic books). In the Green Mile, Edgecomb didn’t have to offer Coffey anything. That’s why I hate the prison system. All the considerate people are inside.

During cold season, you can find any number of people with Kleenex stuck up their noses. It’s like a Masonic ritual.

Since I couldn’t find a surrogate sufferer, I had to get dressed, stick Kleenex up my nose, and go to the drugstore. During cold season, you can find any number of people with Kleenex stuck up their noses. It’s like a Masonic ritual. Everyone knows the secret sign, meaning they sneeze. Check out the floor of any drugstore during flu season. You’ll find tons of Kleenex balls.

You’ll also find people following them like hens following bird seed. For a hen, it’s elementary. For a cold sufferer, it’s the only way you’ll find anything in drugstores these days. One wrong move and you’re in the adult diaper section.

Fortunately, I heard hacking in the aisle next to me, and soon found five other cold sufferers staring at a wall of cold medications. I stood behind them with the same intense concentration prairie dogs show a passing coyote.

Moving our heads in unison, we compared brands, then indications. A hand would reach out, grabbing a box, then put it back. “That’s only a decongestant,” an elderly woman said to her husband.

“This has a decongestant and an expectorant,” the elderly woman continued. “You wanna be back here tomorrow with your throat all clogged up? I ain’t driving you.”

In head-shaking horror, the man returned the box, apologizing for not having his wits about him. We all nodded in unison, figuring it could have happened to any of us.

“This has a decongestant and an expectorant,” the elderly woman continued. “You wanna be back here tomorrow with your throat all clogged up? I ain’t driving you.”

With that, they hustled off to the front cashier. I figured the old lady knew her cough medications, but then this guy next to me said, “She could have got the same thing for less with this store brand.”

I nodded, even though I’d left the house vowing to spend whatever necessary to end my agony. At the same time, there’s no point spending more than necessary, and clearly the store brand was a dollar less.

“But it doesn’t have as much gualifenesin,” a woman said, which had us all leaning over her shoulder, probably infecting her more than she already was.

“You get what you pay for,” another man said. He grabbed what the elderly couple grabbed and followed them to the front. I was all for doing the same thing, but then the woman next to me grabbed something else.

Turns out, this is what clears mucus — not to mention sending any pharmacist into hysterics if you pronounce it the wrong way.

“This has more gualifenesin than the others,” she said, pronouncing it gwally-feny-sin. Turns out, this is what clears mucus — not to mention sending any pharmacist into hysterics if you pronounce it the wrong way.

Since there wasn’t a pharmacist in sight, she went on calling it gwally-feny-sin, until she got to the cashier and suggested better labeling. “I could hardly read it’s got gwally-feny-sin,” she complained. The cashier called the pharmacist who went into hysterics. Seems it’s about the only entertainment pharmacists get these days.

So that left me and the bargain hunter, who was still checking out store brands. “What about this?” he said, finding one loaded with gwally-feny-sin. “Still a buck less.”

No point overspending, I thought, so we both grabbed the store brand and made our way past the pharmacist who was still laughing. “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked us. We kept going. Why give pharmacists all the chuckles?

There we were, standing like a couple of cheap winos, drinking our gwally-feny-sin, waiting for the loosening described on the packaging.

“Smug bastard,” the guy said to me outside, already taking a swig of his gwally-feny-sin. There we were, standing like a couple of cheap winos, drinking our gwally-feny-sin, waiting for the loosening described on the packaging. We gave each other our own secret sign, sneezing, and went our separate ways.

Now I’m home, sipping my gwally-feny-sin, wondering if I got shafted buying the store brand. I’m not feeling the loosening as promised.

“You always want to economize,” my girlfriend says.

She’s right of course. You won’t find a more level-headed woman, even if she is eyeing me now, rubbing her throat. “If you’ve given me your stupid cold, I’ll murder you.”

I hand her the bottle, telling her it’s got more gwally-feny-sin than the leading national brand. “What the hell’s gwally-feny-sin?” she says. No point going into a long explanation. She’s already guzzling. “You look stupid with that Kleenex in your nose, you know,” she adds, going off to the washroom.

She’s already slamming the medicine chest, no doubt holding a pair of scissors like Norman Bates.

“Oh, my God!” I hear her scream. “Look at my eyes!”

“We’ll get through this,” I promise her, making for the door. She’s already slamming the medicine chest, no doubt holding a pair of scissors like Norman Bates.

“Where the hell are you going?” she screams.

“To the drugstore for more gwally-feny-sin.”

“Don’t you scrimp, you economizing bastard!”

Like I said, a clear-headed woman. Just not one you want to deal with holding scissors. Fortunately, like everyone else, she’ll learn in time to stop worrying about her eyes and learn to love expectorant. Even as I close the door, I can hear the sign of the brotherhood.

She just sneezed.

Robert Cormack is a satirist, novelist and blogger. His first novel “You Can Lead a Horse to Water (But You Can’t Make It Scuba Dive)”is available online and at most major bookstores. Check out Skyhorse Press or Simon and Schuster for more details.