I caught typhus — yes, the medieval disease that also killed who knows how many in the WWII concentration camps — in Los Angeles at the end of 2018, a local epidemic that no one gave a damn about because it was the fault of local politicians. I almost died, no one cared; I was delirious with high fever and god knows what kind of neurological damage when I got to the hospital, so instead of taking my temperature, they threw me in the mental ward and denied me medical attention. (I should be dead but I’m a freak of nature.)
I subsequently became a germophobe before my time, and everyone thought I was mental. Well, almost dying will make you a bit more eccentric, but now that EVERYONE has finally had to go through something slightly similar to what I went through, they’re finally aware of how filthy they are. And we can actually talk about it, because it’s the fault of people far away! (Instead of sweeping people like me under the rug because our deaths and near-deaths could be blamed on American politicians, we are all cheering in unison against the distant CCP. OH, such mob fun.) Forgive me if my guilty pleasures at the moment include experiencing the slightest sensation of satisfaction since, for once, I’m not suffering alone. It does give me a dirty little dose of amusement to see the happy moron masses get a little misery for once.