Chapter 12 Chapter Twelve I Have Mange, Baby

"My God, Perry," Bill said, "it's been two days in a row, and no one has tickled like you, except a flea-infested puppy." Bill hung half-hung from the partition, looking down at the Perry scratching his itch. "Of course, I'm pretty sure you're not a puppy," Bill continued, "but the scientists don't necessarily think so." Perry ignored Bill's little joke, and he was staring intently at his left forearm.He rolled the sleeves of his battered Detroit Lions jersey up to his elbows, and the nails of his right hand scratched furiously at his hairy left arm.

"I heard that this time of year is the most frequent period for mange." Bill said. "It's so itchy!" Perry paused, staring at the lump.It looked like a tiny strawberry—but a strawberry wasn't yellow, and it wasn't dripping clear.The yellow thing was hard to the touch, as if a piece of cartilage had broken somewhere in his body and embedded itself in his arm.In addition to the arm, it is embedded in six other places. Shocking red scratches were left where the nails scratched.These scratches, combined with the yellow bump, look like an overcooked egg yolk surrounded by a ring of white.

"Tsk tsk, it looks like I really don't need to see a doctor." Bill said and retreated to his cubicle. "No big deal." Perry looked at the computer screen, where there was a network diagram.He absently stroked a small lock of blond hair that covered his eyelids. Stitch Fingers the White: Seriously, man... it's serious. Bloody Michigan jerseys: Small problem, don't worry about it. Stitch Fingers of Pale Skin: God bless, you hurry up and get some—oh, can I say that heinous word—medicine? Perry tried his best to ignore Bill's sarcasm.All his attention was on the damn rash.Perry had spent more than an hour troubleshooting Pullman's network glitch, which had been plaguing him since yesterday.While he's trying desperately to contain himself, the rash is distracting him from his customer support work.

"Stop trying to make yourself faceless and go get some cortisone antipruritics." Bill hung himself on the gray partition again, like a puppy recognizing an unusual new sound, "You don't have to." I have to go to the demon doctor to see a doctor, please, go buy something to relieve the itching. The antiseptic potion doesn't seem to hurt. I really don't understand why you are so desperate to suffer and not want to experience the magic of modern society." "Those doctors couldn't do anything about my knee before, can they do it now?" "I was there at that game, Perry, remember? I went to the hospital to see you, and even Jesus Christ can't bring your knee back to life."

"Maybe I'm a Cro-Magnon, savages get bugs." Perry resisted the urge to scratch, and this time the rash on his right buttocks started to flare up. "See you at the bar tonight?" "I'm not going, you're a contagion. I'd rather have 'semi-healthy' people with me, like those with rubella or smallpox, or the bubonic plague. I'd rather be with them than get infected. Scabies." "It's just a rash, you idiot." Perry felt the anger rising in his chest, and he quickly suppressed it.Bill Miller seemed to be a natural annoyance, and once he started he couldn't stop.He'd be babbling about "mange" for the rest of the week--and it was only Tuesday.They were, Perry consoled himself, nothing more than innocuous words.He'd lost control of himself once this week--he'd be damned if he got rough on Bill like he did last time.

Perry moved the mouse and clicked to enlarge a corner of the network diagram. "Don't worry, okay? The boss wants this problem to be fixed right away. Pullman's people are about to go into a rage." Bill retreated to his cubicle.Staring at the screen, Perry tried to troubleshoot a network glitch at the company thousands of miles away in Pullman, Washington.Analyzing computer failures over the phone is no easy task, especially when network failures can have multiple causes: it could be a wire in the ceiling, a bad port, or any one of the 112 servers. . The answer raced through his mind, but he just couldn't concentrate.He leaned against the back of the chair, unexpectedly, the itch on his back erupted violently, as if the bites of thousands of mosquitoes had all gathered in one place.

Perry's thoughts were completely disrupted the moment he touched the back of the chair, and he began to rub the skin under the sweatshirt desperately with the rough back of the chair.The sudden itch on his leg made his face contort, and he wondered if he had been stung by a wasp.He scratched at the lump on his leg, scratching through his blue jeans.It's like fighting a hydra, every time one head is cut off, two more will come out. Bill's parody of a Shakespeare actor's voice came from another compartment. "Mange, or no mange," Bill said, his voice barely obstructed by the partition, "it's an infection problem."

Perry gritted his teeth hard, and swallowed back the angry answer that he almost blurted out.The lump was driving him crazy, and anything bigger than that made him rage.Of course, even though Bill was his friend, sometimes the guy didn't know enough was enough.