A Lifetime at the DVM – Hour Two

“This place is a petri dish,” Bill exclaimed as he sat down after returning from a trip to the men’s room at the DMV. “There’s a guy in there hacking up a lung. I hope I don’t get sick again.”

“I know what you mean,” our bench mate interjected. “My whole family just got over Christmas colds.”

“We did too,” I exclaimed. “We seem to get one every year except this time we got one in October and then another one right after Christmas.”

“Ouch,” he responded. “At least it wasn’t the flu. I got that a year ago and it was the worst week of my life. I got a flu shot this year.”

“Not us,” Bill replied. “We’ve never had the flu and never gotten a shot. But this year seems pretty bad so next year we’ll get one.”

“You know,” our new handyman friend interjected, “I have a buddy who was born in London and he told me his father made him eat a spoon full of dirt every day until he was a teenager.”

“Dirt?” I repeated incredulously. “Like from his backyard?”

“Yup,” he nodded. “He’s my age, 47, and he claims he’s never been sick a day in his life.”

“You know, I’ve heard of that,” Bill said. “I always thought it was an old wives tale.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “He claims he’s never had a cold or the flu or even any childhood stuff like chicken pocks or measles. All because of eating dirt.”

The young black man sitting on the other side of Mr. Handyman broke in. “I used to eat paste when I was a kid.”

“Me too,” Bill said with a nod.

“Me too,” I added.

“And did you get sick?” Mr. Handyman asked the three of us.

“All the time,” we all agreed.

“So see, dirt must work,” he said.

“Well I’m up for some lunch,” I said. “How about we all go dig in next door in that vacant lot?”

“I think a hot dog would be better,” the young black man said with a laugh.

“I think even paste would be better,” Bill added.


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