Someone in another room blew his nose. Loudly. A real goose-honk. It startled me. I know what had happened but the volume shook me out of the thoughts I was in, my eyebrows went all the way up and I gave a little sniff. He then went for a second, full clear out blow and I gagged before giving another muted sniff.
These are the two basic options for dealing with a runny nose. The fork in the road is either Sniff Street or Blow Boulevard. I’m a sniffer. When I’m suffering from a runny nose, and a tiny trickle is making its way through my nose hair I’m inclined to give a little sniff. I’m aware that if I were in an office cubicle and sniffing all day long it would become irritating. I’m also aware that kids dragging snot back up that’s dangling down below their chin causes disgust in adults. Surprisingly, if another child notices, they are usually impressed and will ask for an encore performance.
Already the road map if fanning out. I’ve taken a left onto Sniff Street only to approach a roundabout with three options, two of which lead straight to Blow Boulevard. No one wants to hear someone’s sad sniffles all day and I think we can all agree that if there’s enough snot to stretch down past the lips, that stuff has to go.
Blow Boulevard has several options too and some potential roadblocks. When breathing is impaired, blowing is necessary. But when all that happens is ears pop, eyes stream with tears and the tissue paper is barely made damp, it’s back to Sniff Street.
Then there’s the choice of vehicle. It was once commonplace for people to carry handkerchiefs. If I see a handkerchief being removed from someone’s pocket the gag reflexes kick into gear immediately. What ever is in that person’s nose right now is about to go into their pocket and will need to be handled again later. Gag!
The modern standard is tissues. But fold those things and be careful not to over commit on the first blow. Tissue is light and can only hold so much.
I’m sure there is an environmental argument for bringing back the handkerchief. It could be made from hemp or bamboo with trendy designs. There is bound to be a classic series with initials sown into a corner. In what situation would handkerchiefs ever be mixed up? “Now, whose handkerchiefs are these? Oh, BK. Brian this must be yours. And JT. Josh, here you go. At least one more blow left in yours mate.”
The whole concept of the handkerchief could use a little rebranding and some clear etiquette put in place. To encourage the use of handkerchiefs a Three Sniff Rule could be introduced. Also, “No Blowing” signs similar to “No Smoking” signs would help. This would ensure the blower goes outside if planning a full blown “goose-honk”. Handkerchief is a clumsy word, hard to spell with that silent ‘d’. I admit that ‘chief’ is strong and ‘ker’ feels like a shout out to a sneeze, which is on brand. But the whole thing together is convoluted. We could latch onto the reusable wave, like reusable coffee cups and straws, and simplify at the same time: Reusable Tissue. To solve the “snot in the pocket” issue, our reusable tissues could come in a designer case.
The road ahead now is becoming clearer. After three sniffs on Sniff Street, jump onto the Reusable Tissue Express via Blow Boulevard. Simple. There’s only one road option left to deal with: Bushman’s Alley. That narrow, dark and potentially unsafe laneway with no margin for error. When your personlised embroidered bamboo daisy print Reusable Tissue is already overloaded and the third sniff has done nothing to stop the tide, there’s only one option left: Find a safe space out of view, lean as far forward as possible, balance on one leg, the other stretched out for counterbalance, take in a full breath, block the clear nostril and pray as you exhale through the traffic block with all you’ve got.
