A face full of soup

Maria shuffled into the restaurant with her head down and her hands thrust deep into the pockets of her puffy jacket. She made her way up to the counter, pausing once to wipe her running nose with a crumpled tissue. An older woman on her way out walked passed her, giving her a wide berth and a healthy dose of side-eye, but Maria didn’t care. Her mind was solely focused on one thing: a hot bowl of soup. After that had warmed her throat and calmed her cough it was off to bed for a long cuddle session with her cat Moose. The man behind the counter made her order quickly, a large chicken noodle soup, and gave it to her along with a friendly smile she barely registered through the cold medicine induced haze. The soup was hot, but Maria didn’t care, pressing it close to her chest, as if she could skip the eating and get to the healing. A tickle started in the back of her throat as she waited in line to pay. Slowly, ever so slowly it crawled its way up her throat, past her mouth, and into her nose. She tried coughing, tried holding her breath, but like a subway car leaving the station there was no coming back. Aaaa-chooooo! Soup flew everywhere, covering the man in front of her. Maria almost died, both from the power of the sneeze and the embarrassment that washed over her like… well like hot soup.

He noticed her the moment she walked into the restaurant. Rather, he didn’t notice her, he noticed the crowd of people gently pushing each other out of the way, trying their best to avoid catching anything contagious from the girl wiping her nose on a crumpled tissue. His last customer, a ruben on rye, brushed passed her with an audible sigh and a look that would have killed her if she cared. He wanted to shout after her, “Everyone gets sick! It’s not her fault!” but he needed the job and so he stayed quiet behind the counter. He was halfway through pouring her a bowl of soup even before she ordered, poor thing, and he handed it off with a warm smile she didn’t seem to notice. Another impatient customer pushed his way up to the counter and he busied himself with making a sandwich for them. The bread had just reached the optimum level of toasting when a sneeze roared out from the register. The sick girl stood there with a mortified look on her face, clutching her now empty cup in one hand, while using the other to desperately blot the jacket of the man unfortunate to be caught in her tsunami of soup. He looked to see if anyone would help, but the other customers seemed to have come down with a bad case of second hand embarrassment. No one moved.

The young woman walked into the restaurant with small steps, her head bowed and shoulders hunched. She paused for a moment to pull a crumpled tissue out of her pocket and wipe her nose, the other customers pasting themselves against the wall to create more distance. She kept her eyes focused firmly on the floor, ignoring the glances she received from other customers. Once in front of the counter she ordered a large chicken noodle soup, and handed it to her with a smile she didn’t notice through a loud sniff. She shuffled her way up to the register to pay, the soup moving from hand to hand. Despite the wide berth everyone gave her, her inevitable loud sneeze still shocked the room and quieted other conversations. The man in front of her was unfortunate enough to catch the tsunami of soup on his jacket. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket but he pointed her to the register while he grabbed some napkins to do it himself.

She shuffled her way passed me into the restaurant wearing the traditional garments of the sick: a thick hoodie and sweatpants. The other customers seemed to melt into the walls as she made her way to the counter. I longed to throw her into a warm bed and tuck her deep under the covers in front of some regrettable TV show, but I had my own health to worry about. Soup obtained and clutched to her chest, she made her way up to the register to pay. Her eyes squeezed tight. I could see her fighting a losing battle in her chest with each step. The inevitable sneeze roared through the confined space, loud enough that the entire restaurant turned to see the commotion. The man in front of her turned to look and I winced in sympathy as he was immediately hit in the face by a flying wave of soup. He didn’t react, just wiped a hand down his face and gently pushed her to the front of the line.

She shuffled her way passed Ann into the restaurant wearing the traditional garments of the sick: a thick hoodie and sweatpants. The other customers seemed to melt into the walls as she made her way to the counter. Ann’s maternal instincts kicked in and she had to restrain herself from running over to give her a bear hug. She had two kids at home to worry about, and couldn’t risk bringing a new set of germs back that would rip its way through their daycare and emerge on the other side stronger than ever. The girl mumbled something at the counter that even the cook couldn’t make out. He nodded knowingly anyway and passed her back a large bowl of soup with a warm smile. Ann cringed to herself as she watched the girl’s face scrunch tighter and tighter with each step taken towards the register, almost as if her feet were winding a fishing rod hooked on her nose. The inevitable sneeze roared through the confined space, loud enough that the entire restaurant turned to see the commotion. The man in front of her turned to look and Ann couldn’t do anything but wince in sympathy as as the flying wave of soup caught him dead center of the face. He didn’t react, just wiped a hand down his face and gently pushed her to the front of the line.

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