People licking their fingers. I struggle every day to hold on to my version of normality, and then I see people licking their fingers. And I wasn’t in a restaurant when I saw it – not that I would condone it there either.
There is a health food store that I visit occasionally in a college town. I have always had some misgivings about going to this place, but there are a few products that I like to get there. From the first visit I noticed a musty smell in the store, and it seems that all of the clerks at the checkout are shabby looking hippie types. I don’t have anything against hippies as human beings, but, right or wrong, I have always equated the word hippie with dirty. Nevertheless, I would go there and do my typical alcohol spray down afterwards, including anything I bought.
A person has to draw the line somewhere, though. I have to uphold my standards to some degree. The last time I went there, a man and his young child were in line ahead of me. Yes, he was a hippie; no, he did not look clean. They were sharing some food (I’m not sure what), and I did wonder why they couldn’t wait a couple of minutes until they got outside, but wasn’t paying too much attention. I’m glad I caught what happened next. The hippie started licking his fingers, and he was really going at it. My stomach turned. He was going to touch all of his products, which the clerk in turn would touch, then the germs would be spread to my products. At least I had my rubbing alcohol, I thought. As we moved closer to the register, I felt the revulsion building inside. I started looking around; then I bolted. I moved over to another line. It didn’t make much sense to any onlookers as the new line was longer, but I did not care. I resolved that day not to go back to that store; it was teeming with people of that ilk.
That was a couple of months ago. Today I had another unpleasant shopping experience. As I was in line, I saw the clerk pull up his pants. I mean, his pants were up, but he was making sure that they stayed that way. The last time he used the restroom, do you think he washed his hands before touching his pants? It doesn’t work that way, does it? So now he was going to spread his filth to my items. I wanted to move to another line, but my groceries were already on the counter. How can I keep my sanity under such circumstances? I had to tell myself that every clerk probably does that several times a day; I just don’t see it. So I acted like all was fine, and sprayed down everything thoroughly after I walked out.
How do people live this way?