Today I died of Typhus (or the plague) (but only sort of).
To tell this story accurately, I must tell the story of the time I was lying dead in a ditch (but again, only sort of). It was two years ago and I had just met my friend, Emily. After failing to return a text or phone call one day, she began to worry that I was lying dead in a ditch somewhere. I wasn’t. You might think it is strange that she would jump to such an extreme conclusion, but mostly you’re probably thinking how jealous you are that I have such a concerned and amazing friend. You should be jealous. She is awesome.
That brings me to today when I died of Typhus (or the plague). I have been waging battle against rats in my apartment all week (remember when they were just mice? me too) and recanting the story and tally of rats (there are 14–there will be a post about it) to my friends. I then started complaining of a sore throat, which I attributed to lack of sleep and my job working in a petri dish. I wasn’t too concerned.
This morning I woke up to the following text:
Emily: How are you feeling?
Me: My plan to miraculously be better today failed. I might be worse, which means I will have to listen to you and your very wise advice and not get drunk tonight Damn your good advice!
Fifteen minutes later she sent me the same inquiring text, which I thought was weird because I’d just told her the answer. But this is my concerned friend who likes to jump to extremes, so I elaborated by telling her about my sore throat and the plethora of vitamin C I’d procured and how I was going to take the day easy and go to urgent care after work just in case I had strep or possibly the plague (on account of the rats).
I heard no response, so I went about my day completely unaware that I had died….of Typhus (but more likely the plague).
Emily had never received my text. She owns a phone akin to a Zack Morris phone and it failed to deliver any of my words of assurance. So she assumed I was dead. She spent the afternoon calling all of my friends inquiring as to my whereabouts. She used her spare key to come barreling into my apartment in case my face was being eaten by rats, and even searched under the bed in case the rats had dragged my plague ridden body under there.
Meanwhile, I was steadily updating my friend on my day via text; checking into urgent care, the results (not the plague, just a virus), the crazy bachelorette party in urgent care (apparently those things can get bloody!), etc. That’s the thing about best friends. I know to keep my overreacting friend updated with my every move, and she knows to assume death if I don’t answer. If only technology hadn’t gotten in our way.
It wasn’t until we finally connected by phone call that she screamed in relief to know I was alive and I learned that I had been dead this whole time.
I am always bragging about the amazing friends I have here in Austin, because it’s true. They are the best. Not only are they fun and intelligent and amazing, but if I ever die in my apartment, they will surely be there before rats can eat my face!