Let's set the scene, shall we?
It is a Thursday morning. A carefully coiffed, spritzed-all-over-with-Designer-Imposters-perfume mother comes in with her child. Child looks dazed, and something about their faraway look seems familiar.
Mother scrapes child off at the door, and blissfully skips away, off to see her masseuse, or coffee club, or illicit lover, or whatever it is that some of these people are into.
Child begins to hallucinate- "They're coming to get me! THEY'RE COMING TO GET ME!!!" Ahh, yes. I remember now- this glazed-over look is that of someone on some major drugs. At Geneseo we called them Bio majors. With dread, I realize that this child is carrying some form of pestilence that will soon make my life revolve around laying on the bathroom floor and praying for quick death. I can kiss my weekend goodbye. As I pick up the phone to call Child's parents right the hell back here to pick up their kid and at least have the decency to share in these lovely germs, Child vomits a mixture of Dimatap and Lucky Charms all over my shoes.
It's gonna be a lovely winter...