I've mentioned my friend, Bob, from the produce department before. In addition to his fine work with fruits and veggies, twenty-five year old Bob is going to school right now to become a nurse.
Passing through his department the other day, I stopped to ask him how school was going. He mentioned that they were preparing for their clinicals in which they would practice on their classmates.
"Oh," I asked--which was truly the beginning of my problems, "do you mean taking blood pressure and pulse and things like that?"
"Actually no, we're going to be doing things like sponge bathing and clipping nails."
It was then that I gagged and he had the most impish grin on his face.
This, naturally, segued into a discussion of Things Which Skeeve Me Out.
Things like the hot tub at the gym Bob and I both belong to. The hot tub in which I have seen enough hair to braid a friendship bracelet and upon whose foam I have seen a scum of body oil and dirt such that I will not go near that place ever again. But the real capper was when I saw a large toenail piece lying by the side of the hot tub.
Laughing at my squeamishness, Bob promised to fill me in on all the gritty details of his clinicals.
Seriously, Bob, thanks. A lot.
After a conversation like that, it is but a certainty that more nastiness would follow. Am I right? I was just asking for it.
Later that evening at The Gym Which Is Expensive Enough That It Ought To Be Pristine, I went to the pool for laps. The pool is tiny. Approximately 8' x 10'. Two other people were already in the pool, but they were in separate corners of the shallow end doing exercises, leaving me the middle "lane."
Careful not to swim into their spaces, I was using a little white thing at the edge of the pool as my spotting and turnaround point. Up close, it turned out that the little white thing was a band aid.
I thought maybe instead of trying to do laps without getting in the other folks' way and avoiding the lifeless (one hopes) band aid, I could do laps crosswise in the deep end. I started on one side and when I reached the opposite side for the turnaround, guess what was sitting at the edge of the pool? Anyone? Yes, another band aid!
And a few feet away--what's that? Oh tell me that isn't a cond . . . Nah--I'm pretty sure it's just a latex glove. But why? Why is there an abandoned latex glove at the edge of the pool? Some questions are better left unanswered.
I spent the rest of my 20 minutes not counting laps, but counting every single amoeba in the pool. Yes. I was that freaked out.
That was last night and I still feel like I need to shower. Again.