I can't hear you through all this...everything.

Blub blub blub blub blub blub blub.

Lips are moving in synchronized noise and phones are ringing. Blub blub blub blub.

A box of Kleenex on my desk loses another comrade every three minutes or so. Blub blub blub blub blub.

I squirt hand sanitizer on my hands, my keyboard, my computer mouse, my Tylenol bottle. Blub. Blub. Blub. Blub. Die, vile cold germs, die.

From her desk, my coworker holds up two sheets of construction paper. One is yellow and the other purple. "Do these blub blub?". I'm assuming she's asking if they go together. "Sure," I reply. In my head, it sounds more like "blub blub."

My boss sits at her desk about five feet from mine. She wants to know how to do something in Word. I can vaguely hear her, but I cannot discern whether she is on the phone or not. Blub blub blub blub blub. "Blub blub blub text wrap," I mumble. "How do you know that?" "Blub blub, I used to do a lot of this blub," I reply.

And so is working as a receptionist with a cold. Fail. Uber fail.

Blub blub blub,

J.