Garbage Disaster

I wanted to call this tale, “I Had to Cut It Off,”, but I have already used that title.  It would have been perfect, though.

Garbage – what a menace!  I despise handling garbage.  I see other people pulling their trash cans down to the curb or back up to the house, and they don’t look distressed.  I would like to imagine that they all go back into their houses and scrub up thoroughly, but I know that doesn’t happen.  I have seen people – even people I know – handle their trash cans and move on straight to some other task, contaminating all sorts of things in the process.

Many years ago (before I had devised many of the procedures – aka rituals – that allow me to function at a relatively high level), garbage day was much worse than it is now.  I recall one evening coming home from work.  It was dark, cold, and rainy.  I pulled up into the driveway and saw the empty trash cans waiting to be pulled back up to the house.  This occurred before I had discovered disposable gloves, but I had recently figured out how to use plastic sandwich bags as pseudo-gloves.  I had some baggies in the car, so I thought I would get the chore out of the way before going in the house.  I would regret this decision.

I was dressed in a skirt and a sweater.  These are not proper garbage-handling clothes.  I did have the foresight to roll up my sleeves a few inches, but, as I soon learned, not far enough.  Before I realized it was happening, the sleeves were unrolling and they were precariously close to the garbage can.  I moved ahead cautiously as I was almost to the end, but there was no way for this to turn out well.  One of the sleeves hit the can.  I wanted to shriek in horror, but the neighbors were too close.

I managed to get in the house somehow, but my problems were just beginning.  I went into the bathroom as that is where I usually go to get clean.  This time all I could do was stand there in front of the sink looking in the mirror.  Through tear-filled eyes I contemplated what I was going to have to do.  My arm was already soaked in filth, but I was going to have to pull that sweater over my head and spread the nastiness all over.  Then I had the prospect of showering for an hour to try to get it all off.  I was distraught.

Sometimes it pays not to act too hastily.  I stood there so long, procrastinating, that it finally dawned on me – the sweater was old and I probably wouldn’t wear it many more times anyway.  Cut if off!  I grabbed a pair of scissors and started cutting from the bottom.  As I got closer to my face, I pulled the sweater away from my skin so the scissors wouldn’t touch me.  Then I reached the top and snipped the last thread.  I put down the scissors and pulled the sides of the sweater away from my body and it slipped to the floor.  Relief!  I still had plenty of work to do.  My arms needed a lot of sanitizing, but that was better than entire body sanitizing.

Lesson learned from this?  When doing dirty chores, always wear a button-up shirt.  If things go bad, it’s much easier to get off, and it might not have to be thrown away.

About admin

I am a female in my early 40's who has been dealing with OCD since age 10 and a fear of germs since 14.
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