My friend asks me to come with them to the local outlet mall one April afternoon, and I, needing some new items myself, can’t think of any reason not to go.
After a quick sweep around the storefronts, we choose one to enter. Glancing around, I point my friend in the direction of some dresses in the back. We agree to split up for the time being. I take refuge in the front of the store, searching the racks for anything that catches my eye. I sift through the hangers, careful not to pull anything off in the process. I’m not alone. A worker stands not too far from me, seemingly in their own world, folding a pile of clothing.
I can’t be certain of why. It might be the pollen from being outdoors. It might be the store’s strong perfumes. It might even be a couple particularly dusty shelves. Whatever “it” is, it’s starting to sound my internal sneeze alarm. I sniffle helplessly, wondering to myself what the origins of this mystery tickle might be. The worker looks up from their pile, then back down again. It seems they’re trying not to pry into my obviously exponential struggle, a sentiment I appreciate. The wetness in my nose is beginning to make its way above my upper lip. I wish I had tissues with me, but I have none. I’m not good at preparing for allergy attacks in public; I prefer to believe I can handle even the strongest of itches. Instead of seeking out tissues immediately, I choose to look through a final rack.
Scrubbing under my nostrils, I think over the possibility of letting one fly. It’s tempting, and the mere idea excites my nose instantly. Coming alive and flaring, I allow the itchiness to become the sneeze that it wanted to be all along. With no tissues, I resort to turning my entire body away from the clothing rack. This way, I can coax it along without the stress of the worker watching my face contort with desperation. The tickle reaches its peak while my chest heaves. Hitching, I release the sneeze that was once trapped. Since my nose is already running, the sneeze presents itself in the form of a wet explosion. I catch it in my elbow and use my shirt sleeve to cover the mess of it all.
Now I really need a tissue. Sheepishly turning back toward the worker, I decide to head to the back of the store. Making brief eye contact with them as I pass, I silently thank them for not blessing me. This way, I can imagine they heard nothing at all.
I can only hope my friend is carrying some tissues today. I’m not sure how to tell them that if there’s nothing to blow my nose into, I won’t be able to stop sneezing.
I spot them in the clearance section, hidden behind mountains of clothes. Still sniffling, I decide to touch base on which items they found. My nose can wait. Or so I think to myself, wiping a finger under all the wetness. It doesn’t take long for them to take notice. Finally requesting some tissues, I bury my nose into one and blow. There’s some sort of allergen around, I just know it. Brushing off my sneezes as “unusual,” I try and hide that it’s an allergy attack. Unfortunately, my friend hasn’t seen anything yet.
It’s time to head to the fitting rooms… how will I cope with my insistantly sneezy nose being in such close proximity to a friend?
