Get Well, or Else

By Francesca

I have a nasty spring cold. I sneeze over my soup, burn my tongue on hot tea, and shuffle around after the dog, who manages to shred every tissue in my apartment.

Yesterday, I braved the outside world—or considering the way I look when I’m sick, the outside world braved me—to get some pharmacy provisions: cold medicine, throat lozenges, more Kleenex for the dog to destroy, tabloid magazines.

Trashy magazines are chicken soup for the brain.

Once home, I retrieved my favorite honey-lemon Halls cough drops from the shopping bag. As I began to unwrap one, I saw there were phrases written all over the wrapper, lines like:

“Don’t try harder. Do harder!”

“March forward!”

“Impress yourself today!”

“The show must go on. Or work.”

I rubbed my watery eyes to make sure I was reading it right. Was my cough drop yelling at me? I thought I was hallucinating. That was until I saw, written in all caps in the corner:

“A PEP TALK IN EVERY DROP™.”

Oh yeah, trademark that sucker. That’s your golden goose, right there.

Could there be a product less suited to tough love than a cough drop?

Hey, Halls, I’m sick. It hurts to swallow. I’m so desperate, I’ve turned to your disgusting medicated candy for comfort. Cut me some slack, will ya?

I’ll “Take charge and mean it!” a different day.

I get what they were going for, I guess. Trying to motivate me to “Get through it,” as one of the less accusatory phrases said. But listen, there’s a difference between cheerleading and browbeating.

Where is the empathy? Why not print useful, motherly advice like, “Get some rest” or “Drink fluids”? How about “You’ll feel better in the morning,” or even good ol’ “Get Well Soon”? Sometimes you need a gentle touch, cough drops.

I suppose subtlety is a lot to ask from a lozenge you can smell on someone’s breath from across the room.

I tried to think of the last time my food had something to say, and I was reminded of my favorite part of Chinese takeout—the fortune cookies. I love them so much, I don’t even mind when they throw in three on the assumption that, surely, this quantity of dumplings, lo mein, and tofu with broccoli must be intended for an entire family, not just a single woman.

Hey, I’m still growing.

Point is, fortune cookies have the right idea. They might offer an intriguing forecast: “A pleasant surprise is waiting for you.”

It’s always pleasant. Doom is bad for digestion.

Or an insight into your character: “You love Chinese food.”

Scarily accurate!

A motivational maxim: “A person is never to [sic] old to learn.”

A refresher on grammar and irony!

A revelation from your personal life: “Your ex-boyfriend totally misses you.”

Okay, so I never got that one. But he’d better.

In a way, all carbs tell my future:

Guilt.

Incorporating writing into food can be smart marketing. Diet be darned, I justify buying these certain chocolate bars based on their cute gimmick: The brand is called “Chocolove,” and every bar comes with a romantic poem printed inside the wrapper.

Isn’t that the sweetest idea? No English major can resist it.

Not that I’ve ever read the poem. By the time I tear into the wrapper, I’ve completely forgotten there was a literary component to my purchase. I’m too preoccupied with the rich, delicious, dark chocolate about to hit my taste buds.

Oh well. It’s the thought that counts.

If the treadmill had love poems and compliments written on it, I might be more inclined to run on it.

So, Halls, I reject your “PEP TALK IN EVERY DROP™,” and I suggest you reconsider your marketing campaign. You catch more bees with honey than with menthol. I’m taking a stand for the right of sick people to feel sorry for themselves.

Unfortunately, righteous indignation is not a cold remedy. I didn’t want to admit defeat, but my throat was still sore. I swallowed. It hurt. I had no choice.

I put the cough drop in my mouth.

It tasted bitter.