I went to the little shop of horrors Wednesday to get a haircut. The LSOH takes both appointments and walk-ins. Being a guy, I of course was a walk-in.
As I waited, a woman in one of the chairs was coughing up a lung, and not even pretending to cover her mouth. The stylist said to her two different times, "You probably need to get some anti-biotics for that." Now I can't say for certain, but it's probably not a good sign when the person who cuts your hair feels compelled to give you medical advice.
In between coughs, this modern-day Typhoid Mary was going on about how she'd been coughing for weeks and couldn't "get anything to come up." OK, that's not gross at all. The worst and most fearful part of it all was that there were only two people working, which meant there was a 50% chance I would be sitting right where she was.
So there I sat, terrified I was going to get that chair right after her and probably contract pneumonia or lupus or something and die a painful, unpleasant, phlegm-filled death. I tried to act non-chalant, though I would have been about as comfortable waiting on a vasectomy. I contemplated leaving, just getting up and saying, "Tell you what, I'll just come back later." I thought about asking if they had any Lysol and spraying the area down immediately after the germophile had vacated the premises.
Fortunately another chair opened before she was done. Disaster averted. But what if it hadn't? Or what happens the next time? Am I gonna have to start carrying a can of Lysol around everywhere I go? And from that last question, an idea was born. The idea for a new superhero: Lysol Man.
It could be a whole new ad campaign. It's exactly what this world needs. A germ-fighting, non-violent superhero. He would wear a Lysol-blue spandex outfit with a big "L" on front. Or better yet, a picture of a germ with a slash across it. Yes! Picture this:
(The setting: A classroom.)
There are three kids at a table. One kid turns to the camera, scrunches up his nose, fans his hand in front of his face, and says, "I think Johnny forgot to take a bath again."
Suddenly, bursting thru the classroom door, it's Lysol Man! As he enters, an announcer with a deep, booming voice says, "Lysol Man! Da da daaaaah!" (a la Trojan Man).
Whipping a can of Powder Fresh Scent Lysol out of his belt, Lysol Man speaks, "Never fear, my little germophobe. Lysol Man is here." He proceeds to saturate the area.
The kids cheer, "Yay! Lysol Man!"
Lysol Man jogs out of the room, stopping on the way to kiss the attractive, voluptuous teacher. After he leaves the teacher asks, "Who can kill 99.9 percent of germs, class?"
The kids answer in unison, "Lysol Man can!"
(fade to black)
And who better to be Lysol Man than me? A germophobe fighting germophiles. Of course! It's all so clear to me now. Why did I not see this before?
By day, he lives among humans as mild-mannered, unassuming blogger Bone. But when germophiles strike, he slips his taut-pre-teen-Swedish-boy body into form-fitting spandex and turns into Lysol Man. Armed with only his trusty can of Lysol, an itchy trigger finger, and super-keen street sense, Lysol Man travels the globe in search of germs, bacteria, and malodorous emanations.
"Believe it or not, I'm walking on air. I never thought I could feel so free. Flying away on a wing and a prayer. Who could it be? Believe it or not it's just me..."