Mysophobia

The Polish sausage infused with jalapeno peppers and cheese and baked in bread dough was amenable going down that morning at breakfast but now it was starting to rebel. The only remedy for my discomfort would be a couple of Tums. And chocolate. I had neither in the house and decided to make a quick trip to Walgreens. Once there, I grabbed a large container of extra strength, fruit flavored Tums and a medium-sized bag of peanut butter M&Ms. I placed my exorbitantly priced items on the checkout counter and patiently waited my turn.

After ringing up the guy ahead of me, the cashier inhaled deeply. The superfluous mucus that threatened to escape her nose was quickly drawn back into her sinus cavity. She picked up a Kleenex, turned her head and discreetly wiped her nose. Instead of throwing the soiled article away, the cashier placed it back on the counter. The tissue looked as if it had been an unwilling participant in that routine all night.

I groaned in my head. I was not looking forward to having items that would soon be placed in my mouth fondled by a woman with the West Nile virus all over her fingers. It only increases the amount of work that I have to do once I get home. Before one tablet or M&M touches my lips, a complex set of procedures aimed at preventing contamination must be performed.

I walk through the door of my house and set the Walgreens bag down on the floor of my office. I take the items out of the bag and place them on my desk. Now I need some scissors to cut open the bag of M&Ms. I don't want to touch anything unnecessarily so I decide against rifling through my desk drawer to look for a pair of scissors and opt for the kitchen shears that are conveniently sticking out of my wooden knife block.

I use the shears to cut open the bag of candy and set it aside. I put a few squirts of antibacterial gel on my hands and rub them together. After grabbing a couple of Kleenexes out of a tissue box and placing them on my desk, I open the plastic container of Tums, turn it upside down and shake it gently until two tablets fall onto the tissues. I pick up the tissues and toss the antacids into my mouth. As I am chewing the disgustingly milky tablets, I pour some peanut butter M&Ms on the Kleenex and put more antibacterial gel on my hands. Once the gel has dried, I enjoy my chocolate treats confident that I have successfully avoided catching the bubonic plague.

Mysophobia, like all neuroses, is irrational and prone to inconsistency. Had I not been aware of the cashier's diseased state, I would have happily gone home, popped the Tums in my mouth and ate my M&Ms without giving a second thought to germs. But then a few days later, after coughing up a lung, I would have wondered how the hell I got so sick.