Write about: the transfer.
Kat and I are both sick, though I seem to have been gifted with the worst of it. I'm certainly bitching and moaning more, at any rate.
Trying to get to bed early tonight, hoping that some extra rest will help hurry this one out the door.
You know, in case you were wondering why today's prompt is up so (relatively) early.
When our plane arrived at its destination personnel from the Centers For Disease Control were already in place. In fact, they had been waiting for nearly a day.
The wing of the airport containing our gate had been evacuated, with passengers replaced by men and women in hazmat suits. Three large tents had been installed in the hallways; there was no possibility of getting around them.
So we passed through them. In the first we stripped down. I found it awkward and uncomfortable, but I understood the risks. In the second we had our showers. The water could have been a little warmer. And in the third we were given fresh outfits. They were kind enough to provide stacks of shirts, socks, underwear, pants and shoes in varying sizes. Everyone found something that fit their bodies, if not their sense of style, and carried on.
In the end, none of our clothing proved to be contaminated. Which made all that hassle entirely unnecessary, but nobody thought to complain. We were too busy being relieved.
If only that group of tired vacationers and businesspeople and flight crew had made up the entirety of that plane's occupants.
I wonder, as they raced across the tarmac and into the surrounding woodlands, if those two rats were aware of what those first bites and scratches would bring to our continent. They couldn't possibly, I suppose.