Confessional.

The first step to dealing with a problem is to admit that there is, in fact, a problem. So here goes:

Hello. My name is Tiny Elvis, and I am a germophobe.

I was never this prissy, or frightened of dirt, before. I knew to wash my hands after emptying the kitty litter or after using the washroom or after taking my overflowing box of beer bottles down to the dumpster. But I wasn't so obsessive about it. Slivers of this problem started to poke around shortly after Halbastram lost his job, and therefore losing the insurance that came with it. I simply couldn't afford to get sick, so I became a little more vigilant in everything that I did: I didn't take certain medications I was unfamilar with because I couldn't risk an allergic reaction; I cut down on sugar consumption because I didn't want diabetes (twisted logic, but this is what my mind started churning out).

When I started working my most recent retail job, the wacky behavior started to reach fever pitch. For the first couple of months, I was perfectly fine with using the store washroom, handling the money, and eating lunch in the breakroom. But then, little by little, I started noticing the habits of the shoppers and suddenly I went out of my way to avoid using the bathroom at work; Ieven kept two types of hand sanitizer at the register and I wouldn't even twist open a bottle of water unless I washed my hands first.

Insanity? I had my reasons.

Reason #1: The "It's Not My Bathroom" Syndrome. Some people have this belief that, when they go out and have to use a public washroom, they can treat it however they want, even if it means being a nasty S.O.B. because, hey, they ain't got to clean it up. So they do the most astounishing things: pee pee and poop on the seats, toilets full of joy left unflushed, floors looking like the bottom of a hamster cage, poop on the walls (HOW???), etc. I can't even begin to process what is going through a person's mind when they finish up and decide they don't want to flush the toilet. Is there some underlying fear that the toilet will explode? Are you afraid of the germ lurking on the handle? Or do you just think that the toilet gods will come down and finish the job for you? If this is any indication of how things are handled in your own home/washroom, I think I'll pass on that dinner invitation. At any rate, allow me to put your fears to rest: the toilets won't explode, you can always grab some extra T.P. to touch the handle and flush the toilet and no, the toilet gods don't exist.

Compounding the fact that customers had a serious case of the nasties was the fact that the maintenance/housekeeping man only came in three times a week. And no one was delegated to clean the toilets in between his shifts. And not having a separate employees-only washroom meant that I made many trips across the street to the local coffee shop, paying for a drink I didn't really want just for the privilege of using their saintly, sparkling toilet.

Not knowing which customers were to blame for these transgressions kept me on edge and forced me to wash/sanitize my hands after handling their money, returned merchandise, etc.

Reason #2: H1N1, from me to you. The mere existence of the swine flu didn't alarm me one iota. I was on a strict vitamin diet due to my trying to conceive a litter of children, so I knew I'd be somewhat protected. What did startle me, however, was certain people's blatant disregard to manners and decency and their choice to cough all over me, you, and anyone else who stood within 3 ft of them. And this they saw nothing wrong with. Hold on a second while I hack up a lung into my hands, reach into my wallet and hand you my money for my purchase. No, thanks. Then, then, they had the NERVE to express concern...no, not concern...disdain...when a cashier sneezed or coughed, even if we did it into the crook of our arms, which is what we're taught in preschool.

Reason #3: Fruitflies aren't as sweet as they sound. We had them. All over the store. I assume they came with the freight/merchandise from the warehouse. But matters were only exacerbated by co-workers who would eat and leave their food out for all the insects to feast on and prosper from. And so it'd get to such a magnitude that I couldn't even get up to grab a fork without Mr. Fruitfly hovering over my Lean Cuisine, hoping to feast on some scraps. So during the warm months, I took my chances outside, preferring to dine on the bench down the strip. Believe it or not, there were fewer bugs out there.

These unpleasantries forced me to wash my hands upwards of 10-15 times a day, leaving them dry, brittle and Crypt-Keeper in nature. And as vain as this will sound, that was the one thing that forced me to reexamine how often I was washing my hands: I didn't want old woman hands before I reached 30. That, combined with Halbastram repeatedly telling me that I was "insane" prompted me to scale back a bit. I still carry a bottle of hand sanitizer with me everywhere I go, but I only pop it out before I eat. I've replaced excessive handwashing with excessive moisturizing now, to makeup for the punishment I've but my hands through. Although, I don't think this is at all bad.

Trust me, I'll find out soon enough.