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  • Writer's pictureThe Fake Guru

The Antigen Test Guy

Updated: Jul 20, 2022

TODAY WAS A SPECIAL DAY.


He pulls up in front of the pharmacy and triple-checks his belongings: ID, Health Insurance Card, tissues – they’re all there. He looks at himself in the rear view-mirror. A middle-aged, bespectacled man looks back at him. His hairline’s receding, the last lonely strains gelled to the side, glossily plastered to his head. He rubs the muck from his glasses, brushes the dust from his jacket, straightens his Mickey Mouse-patterned bowtie, and gets out of the car. He takes one final look at himself in the side mirror and thinks: I’m ready. “Get Your Antigen Test Here” it reads in the window of the pharmacy. Oh, I’m gonna get it alright!

“Good morning sir, how can I help you?” the pharmacist greets the man with a friendly smile from behind her mask. He hands her his ID and Health Insurance Card and smiles back sweetly.


“I’m here for my Antigen Test. I’m travelling to Italy on Monday.”

She takes down his information – «Right this way sir» - and directs him to a room.

“You know, this is going to be my 100th Antigen Test,” he confides in her. It was a special day indeed.


“Really? That seems like an awful lot.” She frowns sympathetically at the unpleasant thought.


“Yes. I travel a lot, you see. It’s for my… work,” he lies, preparing a tissue. He loved this part. A bit of storytelling before the main event. A bit of… je ne sais quoi. A little bit of… foreplay.


“Oh.” She’s preoccupied, removing the swab from its plastic wrapping.

Then, gloved, and armed, she looks at him and says: “Please pull your mask down below your nose and put your head back. Right or left - any preference?”


“Left. Please.” he gasps. He’s trying to hide the eagerness in his voice.


He puts his head back.


This was it. The moment we’ve all been waiting for.


His heart rate increases and he takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes and as she gently inserts the swab into his nostril, it begins. Sparks explode from within, fireworks erupt, neurons shoot hot, electric messages

inside cris-crossing through his brain. She pushes it deeper. Yes, deeper, deeper! he thinks, in ecstasy. She twists the swab, counting “one, two, three, four” - and he groans, elated, a miasma of colors igniting behind his eyes. What pleasure! What immense pleasure!


A warm shiver runs down his spine as she pulls it out.


He opens his eyes, dazed. Using the tissue, he wipes the beads of sweat off his shiny, wet forehead. Then, catching his breath, he looks her in the eye and asks:


“Was it as good for you as it was for me?”




THE END

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