I'm a mysophobic, otherwise known as a "germaphobe". I can pinpoint my phobia back to my employment with Kroger between March and October of '04. I was the only male under 50 working the day shift in a building full of women. The movies would make me out to be the strapping young stud that did all the heavy lifting, spending my lunch period flirting with the pharmacist and shirtlessly drinking Diet Coke. However, in lieu of backroom trysts and mediocre cola, I was branded bitch-boy. My duties were plentiful and unfulfilling, including an hourly rain-or-shine shopping cart retrieval session. The rewards were minimal, as in minimum wage, but I digress.
Long story short, when I was assigned the task of cleaning the unholiest of storage room sinks, which contained a two-week-old broken jar of light mayonnaise, the overwhelming odor forever embedded in my mind an eccentric fear of bacteria. To put into perspective the severity of this abomination, I spent two years in high school working for a QuikTrip location in a heavily populated area, and not one of the bathroom horrors I witnessed presented a viable rival to this sink. It affected me, and every subsequent custodial duty performed within the remainder of my tenure with Kroger only served to worsen this condition.
I turn door handles with my pinky, making sure never to touch the worn spot.
There's no 5-second rule. There's a law, and it's "Throw it away if it touches the floor".
I get nostalgic at the scent of Germ-X.
I'm not kidding.
