Folks, let me share with you my traumatic work day--which led to hugs and pats and cuddling for mental support which morphed into 'race you up the stairs'--oh, let me not lie, power-walk--I'm not racing anyone up any stairs, out of shape as I am....
So, my day at work? Just, omg, filled with people who had a tenuous grasp on hygiene, and where the appropriate places to urinate were--hint, not the fitting rooms. I had to boil my hands and apply outrageous amounts of sanitizer before I was able to overcome my attack of the vapours.
I was cleaning out a fitting room and cursing the lazy-ass lazy bitch who left hangers and stuff all over the floor instead of bringing them out when I grabbed one that was wet. And the liquid on the white hanger was yellow. And the only reason I didn't scream the house down was that my throat locked up.
My bare hands, my friends. My bare hands on this...thing. Stuff.
Beloveds, Yer Mother might have some slight issues with strangers. And touch. Probably not more so than the average person but maybe scooching over into OHMYGAWD territory, just a bit. So that was rather paralyzingly horrifying. I just went blank for a second--like, my fingers would not open to release this thing.
I'm just a simple, country fitting room attendant, I don't expect to have to deal with anything like this, lord have mercy. All I want to do is make sure no one's stealing stuff, that's all.
I should start wearing gloves all the time...or maybe change the fitting room spiel. "May I count your items, thank you, please return what you don't care for to the desk--oh and by the way, please don't pee in the room..."