OCD

Some people have insinuated that I have some obsessive compulsive issues going on. And I agree. At least in some areas of my life. Hand cleanliness is one of those issues. So much so that I tend to really annoy people sometimes.

In fact, I think my complaint was the straw that broke the camel’s back in getting a waitress fired from her job several years ago. Not that seeing her thrown out on her ear was my intention. I just wanted the manager to know that this girl came out of the stall in the bathroom, turned the water on, ran her fingertips through the stream so fast I doubt they got much more than slightly damp, dried them and went back to work.

I’m standing there, my mouth hanging open thinking, what about the soap?!

Yeah, so my daughter teases me about being like Adrian Monk. I’m not that bad. But seriously, would you want someone handling your food, dishes or silverware who hadn’t washed their hands after using a toilet?

I admit that I think hand sanitizer is the greatest thing since I don’t even know what. Its inventor is deserving of a Nobel Prize.

Well, maybe not.

In my opinion there’s only one thing that could make hand sanitizer better and that is more alcohol. And I make sure that all of it in our house has enough by pouring half of a new bottle in an empty bottle and filling them both to the brim with rubbing alcohol. When I’m finished doctoring it up, I make sure to fill a small bottle that I keep in my purse because I know I’ll need it whenever I leave the house.

Thanks to things like shopping carts, public door handles, and shaking hands with everyone Sunday morning at church. I even use it after touching money, though I do enjoy spending as much of it as I can.

I also think the person who invented those gloves used in the food service industry is a genius! For anyone who doesn’t know what I’m talking about, these little gems are a cross between waxed paper and cellophane and I can get a package of 100 at our local dollar store. We go through four or five packages each month.

Why?

Why not? I can break eggs, mix meatloaf, polish furniture, sort dirty clothes, feed the pets- And thanks to those gloves, never have to wash my hands. Actually I usually do wash them after messing around with eggs and meat, but at least the gloves prevent any germs from getting under my fingernails.

I truly with others were as careful about hand cleanliness as I am. It would make my life a lot easier.

A few years back, I needed to get out, and so did my mother. So I picked her up and we went to the county fair for a couple of hours. In between getting dizzy on rides and traipsing around after her so she could look at all the 4-H exhibits, we decided we just had to have some french fries.
You could smell them all over the fairgrounds!

So we get in line and, just as it’s our turn, there’s only enough fries to fill a cup for Mom and half a one for me. So I’m like, okay, I can wait two minutes for the other batch to finish.

Being mid-July, it was already hot. Add the heat of the deep fryers to the mix and it was obvious that the people working the french fry concession were miserable. The guy waiting on us especially so.

It was obvious when he reached down inside his sweaty tee shirt to grab a wad of sweaty paper towels in order to wipe his sweaty face and neck before shoving it back down inside of his sweaty tee shirt.

Just before grabbing a hand of fresh from the fryer fries and shoving them in my cup of cooler fries.

I’m thinking two things.

First, who in the world handles fries that hot with their bare hands!

And secondly, oh my word! He just handled sweat and now he’s handling food!

My food.
I wasn’t very outspoken then but wished I had been. I’d already paid for the fries I knew I’d never take a nibble of.

It didn’t help to try and convince myself that the heat of the oil on the fries probably killed any germs on those babies. Nope. They were deposited in the nearest trash can, which was a perfectly good waste of $2.00.

I never did ask if Mom had eaten any of hers. I think if she had, it wouldn’t have only been her cup that followed mine, but everything she‘d eaten earlier in the day, too.

Some things are just never excusable!