Written by Emily
Kids are gross. I know this because I taught ninth and eleventh graders. I also know this because I am a mother. Recently, I’ve been tuned in to just how foul people, regardless of age, can be. And this, my friends, is why I will NEVER again leave my house without wipes:
Where: The National Zoo Restroom
When: 3:38 pm
Why: I Couldn’t Hold It
After holding it for as long as humanly possible, I had to succumb to the pleadings of my bladder and use the public restroom at The National Zoo. There was a line, of course, but I am happy to chat with other women in line about the line. Ladies, I’m sure you notice this. No matter where you go there is a line for the bathroom, and there are always women in that line who engage the rest of the women in line about the nature of lines for women’s restrooms. I don’t mind idle chit chat, a bit of camaraderie, so I smile and nod and roll my eyes when appropriate.
Having just ended a particularly vehement head-nodding-smiling session, I turned to wait. What I saw next nearly sent me into germiphobic convulsions. Directly in front of me, a woman blew her nose into her hand and in one fluid motion rocketed gunk into the trash can at least one foot away from where she was standing. It moved with such force, the flying mucus could have knocked over a small child in its path. There was no tissue involved here, folks. Nose. Snot. Hand. Trash. I know this because I saw the entire event unfold in what seemed like slow motion. I didn’t want to, but like rubber necking on the highway, I craned my neck to watch the flying snot make a slippery trail down the wall of the trash can. Cue gagging.
I turned to see if anyone else had seen this horrific display. Nope. Just me.
The woman then touched the bathroom stall door, followed by the toilet paper dispenser, I might guess, and perhaps ten other things before she washed her hands. That’s right. No immediate hand washing involved here.
I left the restroom in utter disbelief. Upon returning to my family, I checked my diaper bag for the wipes–two packs left. Then, much to my children’s chagrin, I attacked them with violent hand wipings. I think their hands are still raw, but they’re able to use them again.
People of the world, I didn’t think I had to say this, but please, do not blow your noses into your bare hands and then catapult it into a trash receptacle–or anywhere really. My kids will inevitably put their hands where your hands have been if not directly into your mucus.
And then they will lick their fingers.
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