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The Miniature Boogeyman

A firsthand account of one UNO student's brush with R2D2 and disease.


Published: Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Updated: Monday, January 13, 2014 13:01

Flu season has arrived in full swing; sniffly, slobbery and ready to haunt us for the next four months. I never mentally prepare myself for this season because I am simply mindless until I get sneezed on and it’s too late to take precautions.

The night of Halloween is the best night of the year for those sleazy diseases to attack. There is one prime carrier we should have all been sure to avoid: trick-or-treaters. They were like sour patch kids – those adorable, squeaky, underdeveloped voices waddling around like miniature Batmen and princesses are adorable until they pick their victim and attack. Allow me to explain my horrifying experience with these little munchkins.

Every Halloween I can look forward to my mom’s famous chili, watching the adorable trick-or-treaters and of course, a good 12 pounds of candy. This year, as I was gorging myself on a healthy ladle of award-winning chili, the doorbell rang and everyone at the dinner table dropped their soup spoons and began a stare down that read “not it.” Unfortunately, I was the last to look up from my soup because I was under the chili’s spell; therefore I got the boot to answer the door. After a large sigh and another quick spoonful of chili, I removed myself from the table and walked towards the door and beheld an unpleasant sight: 25 trick-or-treaters or so staring back at me with hungry eyes. I took a look at the small candy bowl by the door and back at the trick-or-treaters, asking myself if it was too late to turn around and pretend I didn’t make eye contact with all the menacing candy-hungry monsters.

After standing at the door for what now has been at least a full two minutes, I finally opened the door and let the cold rush of October air invade my warm home. I haven’t been trick-or-treating in quite some time, but if I remember correctly, the phrase “trick-or-treat” and “thank you” were en vogue at one point. They seem to have gone out of fashion since my trick-or-treating days.

Once I was finished handing out sugary delights to the ghouls and ghosts, I was relieved to make it back to my soup safe and sound. As soon as I sat back down in my seat, the doorbell sang once again. Guess who was nominated door attendee? This girl.

“Why do you guys hate me?” I said to my family members as I got up from my chair. This time, I attempted to peek around the corner in case it was another large group that I was not prepared to attack. Luckily, this group was significantly smaller so I decided it was tolerable for my standards, I’ve got this. As I made my way to the door I realized these trick-or-treaters lacked an element, candy bags. Did those go out of style, too? What are these children expecting to accomplish? I opened the door and greeted the toothless, smiling children as they put their hands out to request candy.

I stuck my candy-filled hand to one of the guests and at this moment, life suddenly began moving in slow-motion. The child I was reaching out to coughed directly on my hand.

I was disgusted. All I could do was stare at the four-foot R2D2 with astonishment. I could almost hear terrifying sci-fi shrieking tunes piercing my ear drums while I stood there, frozen. I finished handing out candy to the rest of the crew and ran into my cave in the basement with an exit statement to my family, “I’ve been contaminated, they’re all yours. I’m done.”

From that point on I declared I’d best stick to my horror movies and warm blankets far away from possible flu carrying trick-or-treaters on Halloween.

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