'So this is the common cold,' Anya Jenkins pondered her currently miserable condition as she tried to blow her nose ever so gently for what felt like the sixtieth time. 'Not as bad as hyena possession,' her mind continued to wander, 'but certainly not pleasant.' Rupert Giles, the owner of the magic shop and thus her boss, had told her that there was no need for her to come in if she was ill. "But then who's going to take care of my money?" she had protested.
Anya now found herself regretting that decision as she leaned lethargically at her post behind the cash register at The Magic Box. Her shoulder length, strawberry-blonde hair hung limply around her face, and she was surrounded by enough kleenexes to pack the magic shop's gift-wrapped items for a year. Anya, who lived as an immortal vengeance demon for centuries, had been a mortal human for nearly three years, and was just now experiencing her first bout with the dreaded common cold. 'I don't see why humans make such a big deal about sick days,' Anya mused to herself, 'I can do my job just fine with a runny nose and a slight fever and...'
"Excuse me, ma'am," a lanky young man in his mid-twenties gently tapped Anya on the shoulder, "Ma'am, are you okay?" Anya jolted from her sleep, sending a kleenex box plummeting to the ground with a thud.
"What...huh?" Anya desperately tried to wipe the grogginess from her eyes. She gazed at the young man in confusion, still not fully recovered from her catnap. She peered beyond the young man to two women who were sitting at the round table in the book section, hoping her friends might be able to bail her out. Tara Maclay did just that, slowly mouthing the word, 'customer.' The light bulb clicked. "Hello and welcome to The Magic Box," she recited her trademark retail lines to the man, "how may I help with your purchase today?"