The Guy Who Brought Pandemic

I’ve referenced him a couple times on here without a name, the coworker who brought Pandemic to the nurses’ station and started this whole thing. That’s not fair to him. His name is Marcus. Respiratory therapist, works the same unit, has for going on eight years now, longer than me.

He showed up one night with the box under his arm like it was contraband, which in a way it was, we’re not supposed to have personal stuff cluttering the station, but it was a slow Tuesday and nobody was going to say anything. He’d bagged the components in a gallon ziploc because the box itself was falling apart, corners gone soft from however many moves or basements it had survived before him. I remember thinking it looked like something you’d find at a yard sale for two dollars. I was right, actually, that’s exactly where he got it.

Marcus explains things the way he probably explains ventilator settings to a resident, patient but a little clipped, like there’s a version of you that’s supposed to already know this and he’s disappointed you don’t. He walked us through the roles and the epidemic deck in about four minutes and by the third round I was hooked in a way I did not expect to be hooked by a board game with a cardboard research station.

He’s got two kids, drinks his coffee so sweet it’s basically a milkshake, and he keeps a running scorecard in a battered notebook of every game we’ve lost to an outbreak versus every game we’ve won, which last I checked was something like eleven losses to forty behind wins, though we stopped being rigorous about counting a while back. He’s the reason I own the shelf. Not exaggerating.

He’s not effusive about it if you bring it up, he’ll deflect and say he just got tired of doing crosswords alone at 3am. But I’ve watched him teach that game to six different new hires now, always the same four minute rundown, always a little smug when it clicks for them the way it clicked for me. I don’t think he knows this blog exists, and honestly I’d rather keep it that way for now. Feels like something that would get weird between us if he read it. Easier to just say thanks here, where he’ll probably never see it.