Bubble Head

 

[photo credit to Men's Health magazine, January February 2023 issue]

That photo's of me from earlier today. My walk to work. Really, I walked to work with my head in a bubble. Well, not the whole way, the last five blocks on the approach to the office.

You know those tasty drinkable yogurts I've been relentlessly talking about for more than a week? I've been gorging on those tasty things, but I'm going to lay off for a while. Here's what happened. 

Not to get too gross, but my sinuses have been extra juicy lately. No runny nose or sickness symptoms or nothing, just, you know, a higher sinus molarity than usual. I'll keep it clean, but you know, lots of fluid. I attribute that increased sinus viscosity to those yogurts. And well, let me get back to the photo.

There's a coffee shop I have a weakness for. ('For which I have a weakness,' my Mom would prompt me. But I digress . . .) It's right there on the way to the office, that busy corner with the blue awning. I bought one of those pumpkin spice lattes with the whipped cream, and added a few shakes from the community chocolate powder. Trigger warning, I know your aversion to the community condiments, but I want to be up front with you. I took a sip upon exiting the shop, a little hot yet, but the deliciousness was totally intact.

I'd resumed my walk to work when I had a sneeze attack. Four or five brief, though violent, sneezes followed by a robust and dramatic denouement. Well, I felt a snot bubble or something shoot from a nostril. Thought it was an embarrassing public snot rocket. But no, as I opened my eyes post sneeze, my vision was mildly obstructed and hearing was also a little muffled, if slightly echoey. People were looking at me, fellow pedestrians, like I was wearing a big red clown nose. Something was clearly awry. 

First off, that really freaked me out because you know how fellow pedestrians here fastidiously abide their own business. No eye contact. An absolute and unspoken rule. Well, all of a sudden, all eyes were on me! I furtively felt for my fly to make sure I wasn't exposed. Then looked behind me to see if I was missing something. Not. After a few steps with no resolution, I walked by a restaurant window and saw my reflection.

Of all the fantastic things. My head was in a bubble!

Two adolescent boys were pointing at me and laughing their heads off. One of them aggressively approached with clearly nefarious intent, based on his body language. He made a rapid, upward swiping motion to pop my bubble! With reflexes quick as a ninja, I deflected his unwanted offensive and retained the bubble.

"Get that weak shit out of here," I said to him, as if having successfully blocked a slam dunk attempt. Then I stared him down, the little punk. I think I've been watching too much playoff hoops. The boys retreated, probably to harm some less skilled and unsuspecting pedestrian.

But that was so out of character for me. You know, I'm not a guy of showy aggression. Something took over me. I don't even know why I was defending it, the bubble. It was instinctive, as if it had become an extension of me, my space. Self-preservation just took over, this unanticipated and sudden need to preserve the bubble. It was totally reflexive.

Anyway, the smiling and pointing continued as I resumed my morning trek. A few people with their laughing and pointing. How sophomoric and childish. They were probably jealous. By this time I had grown attached to it. I was really proud of my bubble. My entire head being encapsulated! You see it in the photo.

It was so big, the bubble, that it was expanding and contracting with each breath. It was working like one of those 19th century submersive diving bells. I didn't know how long the oxygen would hold up, but I was determined to keep this going. Like when you're challenging yourself to eat an entire watermelon in one sitting and you're in a zone. My determination had become steadfast.

It was, thankfully, an un-breezy day. The bubble stayed steady and I held my head up proudly. I felt eight feet tall that morning. I crossed the street at one point and the stopped cars at the intersection started honking their horns at me in appreciation. It was a really fun moment. I raised my hand in an undirected wave of acknowledgment and kept moving.

As I got close to the office, my pal saw me, pointed and smiled. I smiled back with a head nod of assent. He was kind enough to take the above photo. Meanwhile, the pumpkin latte in hand, there was no chance to drink it, of course. I just held the thing like some useless prop. 

The bubble lasted half a day! By lunch time, the air inside was getting very stale. Plus, I was hungry and thirsty. So, I let my boss break the bubble. Which he did, with a finger. He immediately went to wash his hands after I explained that it was a sinus bubble. That first breath of air was so tasty! And cool. Much cooler than what the temperature had climbed to inside the bubble.

My girlfriend thought it was disgusting. My bulbous booger bubble, she called it, but she has a flair for alliteration. I prefer sinus bubble. And she's right, of course, disgusting, but she didn't see it directly. She only saw the photo, not live because she works across town. Probably a good thing, in this case.

There were challenges throughout the day. For example, tying my shoes while sitting at the desk was tough. I had to genuflect, facing the open aisle to keep the bubble from making contact with my keyboard or desk, and without bending down, out of consideration for the bubble, disallowing a visual as my fingers performed the task on the strength of muscle memory. Also, using the restroom presented an awkward dynamic. Fellow patrons granted me a wide berth of a urinal buffer between us. Going through doors was precarious, too, with the added bubble altitude.

Then there was the elevator! You know how people go silent and make a deliberate show of ignoring everyone else. Well, imagine the monumental restraint required for the others to ignore me this morning. I almost burst out laughing during one elevator ride, that silent and what was certainly confused tension. But I held it together, if just only.

There were also close calls, wanting to touch my face and battling back subsequent sneezes. Really, I challenge you, see how long you can go without touching your face, and no sneezing. I managed it and credit my heroic self-control. Also, my recent haircut turned out to be very opportune. That decreased hair circumference was clutch for bubble clearance.

A few times throughout the day, I couldn't help but to think of John Travolta, the star of The Boy In the Plastic Bubble film. Even if his bubble was made of plastic and encapsulated his whole self, not just his head. I submit to you that my feat was tougher to accomplish. I had to manage the thing while still subjected to a full range of motion and an ensemble of people, some of whom lacked empathy.

Like Walt in the office, the prankster. At one point he threw a paperclip at me from over a few partitions and across the room. He missed, thankfully, that dork. Surprisingly, and this was odd, my boss got upset and issued him that crummy project that'd been looming and we'd all been fearing. That was clearly retribution issued due to the failed bubble assault. I don't know the boss' attachment to my bubble, but I liked it.

Anyway, it was an oddly proud day. But really, I'm breaking up with those tasty dessert yogurts. Maybe this is the impetus needed for me to go Greek.

[I saw that photo in the magazine and couldn't turn the page. Then, when I did, I had to turn back to look more. The dude's eye contact demanding attention. Sure, it's an illusion, but what if . . .]