Pesky thing, that retrovirus

I glanced up at the clock for what must be the tenth time this minute. Ten minutes to five, time to start clearing up. Looking back at the fume hood I was working at, I began to seal up the container I was working on. My name is Joseph ‘Mac’ Mackay, and I’ve been working for Blue Star Pharmaceuticals for nearly a year now. I’m twenty-two, graduated from a British university last year with a biology degree, but moved over to the US for work. For most people, today was just another ordinary Friday, but for me, it was the start of my holidays. I hadn’t taken a single day off sick in the last year, so the boss gave me all my holidays at once before the end of the year. My holiday coincided with the start of Spring Break, and the whole town was gearing up for the influx of beautiful, drunken students. Everyone except me, that is.

Maybe I should tell you a bit more about myself. You see, I’m the stereotypical geek; I’m about forty pounds overweight, wear reasonably thick glasses, and my favourite hobby is sitting in a room, playing Dungeons and Dragons. Thankfully, I’m not a virgin (Even I managed to lose that at university!), but I have no girlfriend, and because I definitely don’t look very attractive, I’ve kind of thrown myself into my work. In fact, I think the only people who’ve seen me in the last six months are my colleagues, and my house mate, Rachel.

My job is basically keeping the various human, animal and viral cells alive when they’re not being used in research. It’s a mundane job without a doubt, but I’m hoping to move up into a proper research role in a year or two. But now, I had nothing to look forward to but three weeks of rest, relaxation and house work.

I didn’t even realize my glove had torn on the lip of the container, I only noticed when a drop of cold liquid dripped onto the skin underneath my thumbnail. Quickly, I finished screwing the flask cap in place, then went to the sink and washed my hands in ****. I quickly inspected my hand, no damage done, so I logged the spillage and went back to cleaning up.

As I clocked out and collected my coat, I noticed a slight stinging pain on my hand. Looking down, I saw a small paper cut on my thumb. I must have caught it filling out the spillage form. I thought nothing more of it, and headed home.

Home was a three-bedroom town house on the edge of the city centre, in one of the older neighbourhoods. It was perfect for me; the rent was cheap, plus it was only ten minutes walk to work and only another ten to reach the city. The bad news was the place was in pretty **** need of sprucing up. Wallpaper was beginning to flake off the wall; the once-white first (ground) floor ceiling was dotted with watermarks and cobwebs, and most of the kitchen units looked like they were older than me! This was the main reason for my holiday; to get this place fixed up so it no longer looked like a student flat!

“Rachel! I’m back!” I shouted up the stairs, but got no reply. My housemate should have been home by now, the family clothes store she helped run closed at half four on a Friday. As I walked into the kitchen, dodging the boxes of flat-packed units leaning against the wall, I noticed a post-it note stuck to the front of the fridge:

‘Mac,
Spending weekend with old uni buddies
Will be back on Monday.
Beer in fridge, money for pizza in your room. Don’t start working until I get back!

Rachel’

I sighed at this, Rachel was always doing this. I wasn’t really surprised, Rach and I were not very alike; she was a brunette, about 5’9”, and very pretty. I’d asked her out once, when I was very drunk; she just smiled, gave me a peck on the cheek, and went back to dancing. Oh, well. Nothing left to do but order pizza and get drunk alone.