I don’t know how many of you consider yourselves germophobes, but let’s just say that when I have nightmares, they usually take place in a public restroom. Trying to hold my breath so as to not inhale any of the floating shit particles, tip-toeing around the puddles of piss on the ground to avoid soaking my shoes in urine, and closing my eyes in prayer while doing my business out of hope that my stream won’t create any dreaded back splash. I can hear the sound sounds of someone grunting one out in a nearby stall. It is truly a horrific scene. After I’m done I sprint towards the exit, the sinks are covered in loogies and hair, therefore I’m better off not washing my hands. I start wrapping my hand in my shirt so that it won’t come into contact with the disgusting door handle when suddenly, I slip on the pee and lose my balance. My heart stops as I realize I’m falling directly towards one of the giant piss puddles. I reach for something, anything, and my hands find a urinal. I scream in agony and despair, letting go immediately. This causes me to continue to fall directly into the giant piss puddle and then everything goes black.
That’s when I wake up. My heart is racing and I have to go take a shower just to get rid of the germ demons swirling around in my head. I would consider that a germophobe, right?
Anyway, there’s one other place that frightens me just about as much as a public restroom. And that place is the waiting room at the doctor’s office.
I was recently in one and it was the usual terror scene. People blowing their noses, old men sneezing and scratching their balls, loud breathing, and the worst of all: Little kids coughing without covering their mouths. Even though I go to an adult doctor now, there are always little kids coughing there. It’s like all doctor’s offices have a coughing kid quota that they need to meet.
My phone was dead and I was bored out of my mind. There was absolutely no way I was touching the germ-infested magazines they always have lying around. I just keep my hands in my pockets and try to breathe as little as possible. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice one of the little kids is licking his toy truck. Snot is pouring out of his nose. Sick little bastard. I shudder and start to pray when a putrid smell arises. Yup, the old man next to me had just farted. As I plug my nose the lady across from me (who had been reading one of the germazines) starts to eat an apple, touching it with her bare hands. I am really starting to think I’m in hell now. Besides, aren’t apples supposed to keep you away from the doctor?
I am startled when I feel an object hit my foot. I look down and see it is the little kid’s saliva truck. I move my body away from it in the same way that a vampire does when he is exposed to a crucifix.
The kid runs over and picks the toy up. His mom yells to him,
“Trevor! Apologize!”
The kid looks at me blankly and without warning, sneezes on me, spraying his repulsive snot/spit onto my arm.
“Sorry,” the little rat says.
I scream out, holding my arm out in front of me like it had been dipped in a chemical vat. I desperately look around for a towel or anything to wipe my arm with, but can’t find anything. I scramble up to the front desk and ask the lady if they have a towel I can use. She looks at me with a fake smile, points, and goes,
“Yes, sir. Right over there in our public restrooms.”
Sauce Box 