So you think you’ve caught the flu, and you look like a disease-ridden, mangy dog. Starting in the early morning, moan in a loud and only mildly sexual way from under your covers. Annoy the hell out of your sleeping or studying Type-A roommate with your snotty, nasal, high-pitched whimpers.
Drink water. Lots of water. Chug that shit non-stop. If you’re an athlete go ahead and grab the Gatorade, but if not, don’t bother. You don’t need a sports drink; your body isn’t that special, you presumptuous ass. Regardless, drink so much that it is impossible for you to sit through an entire fifty minute class period without leaving at least twice to go to the bathroom. If your T.A protests, say that you’re a genius savant who missed his toilet-training lessons because he was calculating the log of the multiplicity of the quantum ground state. Say that you feel insecure when you compare your lavatory accomplishments to those of your peers. Cry a little, then pee yourself a little. Just to be convincing. Then leave before your T.A can tell you no.
Once in the bathroom, take your time. You’ll have a semi-comfortable seat and some graffiti to read. You may even get a better education about the general functions of humanity spending an hour in the john than you will after spending ten weeks in Psych 1.
You could potentially go to Vaden, but instead of trying to get better, why not sneeze on? Go on, pass on some of that warm, fuzzy, germ-encrusted love. After all, misery loves company! Follow this advice and you’ll enjoy yourself so much, you’ll wish every season was flu season.
