The only point of being sick is getting out of school.

The silver lining–is this the pun?– of any gut-wrenching–no this is– stomach bug or bout of strep throat is getting to endure it under a pile of comforters watching Olivia Pope almost make out with the president in the Oval Office on Scandal, the distant prospect of make-up work clouded by a double dose of Dayquil.

So the worst kind of sick is sick-but-not-sick-enough-to-stay-home-and-get-out-of-Calculus. It’s the sort of common cold or nausea that doesn’t quite necessitate a day in bed, skipping that math test worth half your quarter grade but will still make you miserable while you take it.

And what’s even worse than taking that lunch period test on Integration with a nose running like a leaky faucet is trying to plug said faucet with the sand paper/dryer sheet hybrid this school puts in a box and calls tissues.

As someone whose immune system is effectively shot from four years of stress, I know the pain that is swiping at your nose with what could double as a nail file. Using the school’s tissues for a week, or even just a few days, to combat seasonal allergies could have unintended side effects, such as a chafing red nose and disillusionment with the American public school system as a whole.

Seriously, I’m surprised I haven’t gotten a splinter from one of those bad boys. They make a shirtsleeve or the corner of a Hamlet worksheet seem ideal. Once I even tried a Gov textbook.

Sorry about that.

Maybe the school system has ample reason to stick with these sandpapery tissue substitutes. I’m sure the cumulative cost of upgrading to some Puff’s Plus, or even standard Kleenex, is some unbelievable amount of money.

And yet, I still dream of a school in which tissues are an ally, not the enemy.