For the past week and a half I have been in all out assault mode to fight the war on fecal particles. I am currently taking extreme measures of protection from all germs spread via door handles, counter tops, and shared spaces.
I have posted about the community bathroom many times. I could devote an entire blog to that bathroom… people failing to flush, people talking on their cell phones about the difference between short-term and long-term life insurance (flush), and people making a mockery of toilet training. Last week my angst with the bathroom hit an all-time high when I heard someone a few stalls down frantically unrolling toilet paper. “Great,” I thought. “It is going to start to smell.” I knew it was coming from the fourth stall or the stall furthest away from the door and last regular sized stall before the handicapped stall. I discovered early in the game that this is the stall most people try to poop in, but fail to be stealth because it also is the stall that has problems flushing. As I finished my business (and flushed, thank you) I heard non-stop flushing coming from stall four. I opened my door to see one of my co-workers leave stall four and walk out of the bathroom- without washing her hands. I knew exactly what had occurred in that stall, but I needed confirmation. I took one for the team and peeked in the stall to see floating turds. I am holding back vomit as I relive the experience again.
My mind raced to everything in the office that we both touch on a daily basis. The door, the key pad to enter our door codes, the refrigerator handle, the coffee stirrers…she usually takes cream…the creamers are tainted too! I was on the verge of hyperventilating. The water dispenser, shipping labels, paper towels, mail, the candy bowl, the kitchen sink…it all had shit on it. Everything is covered in shit. My life for the past 7 months has been covered in shit. I needed to go home. I needed to shower. I thought about telling my boss. What would he say? Is that grounds to fire someone? Would he believe me? I was helpless.
Paper towels have been my main weapon of defense. Now, every time I enter the office I have to use a paper towel to cover my finger when I enter my door code. I then use the towel to open the door and toss it in the trash can under my desk. Usually I also grab a handful of hand sanitizer from the bathroom and nonchalantly carry it in my left hand to rub on to my skin after I throw away the paper towel.
The kitchen is the worst. I use a paper towel to open the fridge, the drawers, the cupboards, and to pour water out of the dispenser. I don’t use stir sticks or cream.
I was afraid people would think I was crazy, but yesterday I noticed another co-worker using a paper towel to punch in her door code. She knows.
As I type this, the fecally fingered culprit just walked by. It’s 3:45. She’s off for her afternoon deuce. She just returned at 3:49. It must not have required much wiping.
