The Sneeze

I am sitting in Fenwick Library, just upstairs to the left in my favorite spot next to the banister. Sitting next to the banister is key because it limits the number of people that can sit next to me to one person at a table behind me. The library is empty, and I'm plugging away at a project
Then I hear it. It's an echo from the exposed lower level: the unmistakable sound of an uncovered sneeze.
There is an underbelly of society, a group of people that revel in their ability to tip the Richter scale with their sneezes. They are operatic in delivery, a dramatic combination of force and expulsion. Most heinously, they are uncovered. Through my extensive observations, it appears these people feel a sneeze aimed downward negates any and all germs shot out of their nostrils and mouth. This belief is comparable to the notion that the world is flat, or that the Twilight saga was well-written. It is simply incorrect.
Snap back to present: the echo of the sneeze fades from the air, and after slowly and deliberately counting to 10, I return to my work.
Heavy footsteps and chair shuffling behind me interrupts my thoughts. A casual backward glance stops me dead cold: it's the Sneezer.
His identity is unmistakable: his nose is red, chapped and running freely. Lose tissues burst out of his front pockets, and in his back pockets are wadded up tissues that I can only conclude are used. Biting back nausea, I force my eyes from the scene, not before witnessing his sleeve cross the nose and mouth in an effort to clear the snot enveloping the lower half of his face.
Oh. My. God.
I tell myself to deal with it. I tell myself I have to ignore it, that I must push past it. Maybe I would have succeeded, been able to ignore the fact that of all the tables in all of George Mason University, the Sneezer chose the one directly behind me. Maybe I could have even made great strides against my germophobia today.
Except for the fact that not 2 minutes after setting in, the Sneezer unleashed a monsoon of sneezes. In the vacuum of silence that follow, he giggles and says "Bless me!"
Bless you indeed, you filthy disgrace.
I turn to him with a hatred burning a thousand dying suns bright in my eyes, and spit out, "The proper way to sneeze is into the nook of your elbow."
Gathering my things, I flee the library.