Why Everyone Should Carry Hand Sanitizer

Recently, I was at a mall with my girlfriend and we made a pit-stop to use the restrooms. While I was inside doing my things I couldn't help, but notice three guys leaving without stopping at the sink. After washing my hands I proceeded to the door and after someone entered I managed to catch it with my foot and swing it open to avoid touching the germ infested doorknob. Upon exiting the bathroom I dried my hands on my jeans and waited for my girlfriend ,with my back to the wall standing opposite the restrooms. As I waited, I entertained myself by watching as about a dozen men walked in and then out of the restroom. Now this particular restroom didn't have paper towels, just one of the air dryer deals that takes a decade to dry your hands. I know from experience that very few spend the time using them and the air dryer can be heard from the outside corridor. The air dryer was never turned on and not one guy leaving the bathroom was wiping their hands on their clothes or shaking them dry. In the few minutes that I stood in the corridor, twelve men went to the bathroom and didn't wash their hands. As a result of this experience I see the world in a different light. Upon touching a doorknob I can't help, but wonder who's hand touched it last. Was it the guy standing next to me in the men's room that walked out without so much as a glance at the sink? Was it the lady in the self-help section at Border's that had a sneezing fit into her hand? I ponder this as I reach into my pocket for my hand sanitizer.

The Stranger in my Bathroom

Every Monday at 5am I awake to the deafening siren of my alarm clock, signaling the beginning of my "work week" or as I like to call it, my incarceration in hell. I blindly swing my fist over the edge of the mattress and ,much like an abusive father silencing a crying infant, I pummel my alarm clock until it falls silent. Now I realize the most people turn their alarms off with the simple push of a button, but understand that I am not most people, and the concept of button pressing is to complex for me before having a cup of coffee. With eyes barely open I swing my legs out of bed and find my way to the bathroom, turning on the light only after having closed the door to avoid waking my girlfriend. At first the blinding light confuses my groggy mind and I think I am being beamed up by aliens and now I can’t help, but wonder if all the stories of people being beamed up by UFO’s are actually just overtired people trying to take a leak. As for the alleged abductions involving anal-probes…well the plunger standing adjacent to the toilet pretty much solves that mystery…ouch! My eyes are still adjusting to the blinding light as I raise the toilet seat to take care of business. As I begin to do my thing though, my eyes begin to focus and I see a man standing directly in front of me peeing on my feet so I jump backwards and try to make sense of what is going on. The bathroom in my apartment was definitely designed by a woman for a woman, because there is a mirror at waist level, directly behind the toilet. A mirror that I forget about every morning, like a dog chasing it’s tail only to come to the painful realization that it’s attached after biting it. In a way believing that I am being peed on by a stranger at five in the morning in my bathroom is preferable to a dog’s tail-chasing dilemma, because fortunately for me, I am the only witness to this daily ritual. In retrospect what troubles me the most about the situation is that in all the times that this has happened to me I have always been instantly upset that I was being peed on, but not once have I felt guilt for peeing on the stranger in my bathroom. Does that make me self-centered? I hope not.