The Tale of Teste-Hands

Twas a boring Saturday night at work. Quite dead. I'd already cleaned up a bit when the phone at my register rang. It was a co-worker. She pointed out two guys and warned me to make sure to wash my hands if I end up touching anything one of the guys gives me or one of the guy's hands.

It didn't take me long to notice why. The guy's hands were going in his pants. A lot. It'd be one thing if it happened one time. I'd still want to wash my hands afterwards, but they seemed to go in his hands every three seconds. And not just in the front. It was kinda disgusting how slowly they were watching, and how much of a train wreck it was like watching the two men pass with one of them getting handsy with his own junk. After he passed, I felt very obligated to wash my hands.

Well, I thought it was over, but it wasn't. Because they went through my line. Try as I might, I couldn't seem to avoid touching the hand. Fingertips seemed to touch knuckles, while flat ends of fingers touched palms. I couldn't avoid it no matter how hard I tried. And when they left, I couldn't leave to wash my hands right away because of another customer.

Never has someone scratching themselves made me so irrationally paranoid and so disgusted at the same time.

Awkward picture of the day!