Saturday night, I was at Solaris in downtown Greensboro. I was having dinner and hoisting a few Red Oaks at the bar with my friend Kristina. Of course, when you’re drinking beer, it wants out almost as soon as you drink it. You know the old phrase… “You don’t buy beer, you rent it”, right?
As I excused myself and answered Nature’s Call, I noticed something that I found disturbing. Every trip to the Dude’s Loo involved other blokes answering the call. And after they were finished standing in front of the porcelain amenities doing their business, they just walked out. No hand washing. No hand sanitizer. No NOTHING!
I didn’t even want to touch the door handle when leaving because they had just touched their peckers. Now they’re placing their peckers all over the building by the touch of their hands.
From my count, there were 3 guys that didn’t wash their hands after unzipping their pants, pulling out their little thinking buddy, and urinating. Is it wrong for me to be so grossed out by that?
I mean, I’ve seen it done in bars before and that didn’t bother me because there’s generally no food eaten at a bar that caters to the live music crowd. Hell, I’ve been guilty of it too. Sometimes, there’s no running water in those facilities. I can live with that. I can accept it.
I’ve always had a “clean hand” fetish. I showed the first signs of it when my parents and I were celebrating my first birthday back in 1967. They sat me in a high chair and placed a large sheet cake in front of me. They thought that I wouldn’t be able to control myself and that I would start tearing up the cake in front of me. They planned on me making a GLORIOUS mess to be captured by the best 1960’s technology that Kodak had to offer.
But I sat there… Just staring at the cake.
After a few minutes, my parents took matters a step further to achieve the desired photos they had in mind. They plunged my hands into the center of the cake. And before they could regroup with the camera and snap a picture, I had pulled my hands out. I stared at them for a moment and then I started crying.
The picture has me crying and looking at my hands covered with birthday cake. As it turns out, I didn’t like having my hands dirtied with cake or anything else for that matter.
One day I discovered that I could make little towns complete with Hot Wheels transportation in the dirt. I would be covered from head to toe with red clay and dust when I was tired of playing. BUT my hands would be clean and tidy. Rarely did anyone have to tell me to wash my hands.
I’ve never been obsessive about it. I don’t start crying anymore whenever my hands get dirty. I just wash my hands quite frequently. And that’s probably a good reason why I don’t get many colds and other bugs.