"Have you been in the Germ Tent yet? If not, you've got to check it out. It's terrific." This is how Grace and I were greeted as we stumbled upon County Government Day in the mall parking lot which was little more than a collection of fire trucks and other county vehicles open for inspection and, of course, the Germ Tent. Umm, nice lady, clearly you don't know me very well. I had indeed not yet been in the Germ Tent and, despite her pleasant demeanor, this gal was not going to convince me to get within 100 feet of anything called the Germ Tent. I've seen the trailers for Contagion, thank you very much. The young lady (I'm assumimg she was a representative of the county, though it's possible she's just a really big fan of germs) must have recognized the horrified look on my face because she proceeded to explain that the Germ Tent was simply a tent with a black light that illustrated how many germs covered your hands. I nodded, thanked her for the invitation, took Grace's surely germ covered hand and slowly backed away.
However, after checking out the fire equipment and climbing through the bookmobile, my curiosity got the best of me. Grace and I lathered up our hands with the special germ detecting lotion and plunged into the darkness of the Germ Tent. I wish I could report that we were nearly germ free; instead, under the black lights, our hands looked like we had dipped them in white paint. The scary thing is that I am a vigilant handwasher and we had recently washed them. I'm going to blame the germ-fest on the five minutes we spent on the bookmobile (Shared kids' books in a warm, sealed bus? More like the petri dishmobile.) because I don't want to think that I'm toting around that many germs on a regular basis. After leaving the tent, another county worker helped us wash our hands at one of those foot-pump washing stations. I scrubbed Grace's hands and evidently didn't spend enough time on mine because the worker reminded me that I should always wash my hands for thirty seconds. Me? Me? You are going to lecture me on handwashing protocols? If you didn't look like you were struggling with the foot-pump causing a lame water output I would have washed my hands all day. Because that's what I do.
I proudly wear my germophobe title. Recently, a discussion with friends, one of whom is a fellow phobe, turned to various anti-germ tactics. I don't mean run of the mill stuff like lamenting that not all public restrooms have outswinging doors or how many layers of toilet paper create an adequate barrier between ass and toilet seat. No, I'm talking next level stuff like the wisdom of attempting to turn the public restroom faucet on and off with your foot. (For the record, I don't think that is worth the risk; I'm so clumsy that there is a 50/50 chance that I would fall in the floor attempting such a graceful move and that would be a hundred times worse than touching the faucet.) So, this county lady doesn't know it, but I've got hand washing cred.
Obsessive hand washing is just the tip of the iceberg, though. Recently, my germophobia/hypochondria reached a new low when I decided to boil my clean silverware. Why did I boil my fresh-washed silverware, you ask? The short answer is because I don't own an autoclave. The long answer is that I don't have a dishwasher and after a couple days too long in the sink our silverware had a film on it that looked impervious to soap and water alone (in my warped, overcautious brain). I scrubbed the silverware like always but, sitting there in the drying rack, it just didn't "look" clean. So, of course, the next obvious step anyone would have taken would be to boil it until sterile.
Once you answer the question "Am I really going to boil my silverware?" in the affirmative a few more questions pop up. How long does one stand over a roiling pot of silverware before determining it is "done"? One minute? Ten minutes? They don't cover this info in Food Network Magazine or Hypochondriacs Illustrated. Or, why are there no specific kitchen tools for removing silverware from a boiling cauldron? It is far more likely that someone would get scalded by boiling water or stabbed with sharp knives as I remove them with regular tongs, than would be done in by eating with tainted silverware. But I don't let common sense get in the way of a good obsession. Sad to say that, lately I've had to look no further than my own hands and sink (not a hotel or bowling alley) to find an Enemy of the Germophobe.
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