I was in Ecuador over Christmas, joining my parents in visiting my sister who lives down there. We shot several squirrels and one buffalo, carried more oxen yoke than we needed to, and would have received triple points because my profession was a farmer.
Except that I have died of dysentery.
I have not actually died, but I did pick it up and fail to declare it at customs (although anyone following me around on my Monday travels back to the states would have suspected I was doing copious amounts of coke in the bathroom. Or had dysentery).
Dysentery is a nasty but usually not fatal (in the developed world) illness which produces the following symptoms in your room mates:
- Copious amounts of Oregon Trail references
- Frequent 18th and 19th century frontier life jokes
- Unusually straightforward requests that you wash your hands
- Exaggerated chewing motions while eating all the food you can’t have right now
- Half-serious jerks backward when you sneeze
- Very earnest and quick compliance with requests for toilet paper