Today at the day job, a student wandered into my office and handed me an envelope with some forms inside. This is not a strange activity, since folks are always killing trees and handing the results to me. What was odd was that the envelope was a bit rumpled and bent. No problem.
I took the envelope from the student and held it in my hands while we chatted a bit. The chat wound down and the student apologized for the envelope being damp. I told them it was all right and the forms seemed fine. The student then mentioned that it was damp from having been in their back pocket for a while. I calmly set the envelope down while we finished talking.
As soon as the student left, I dive-bombed the supplies and scrubbed my hands down with one of those Lysol wipe things. Once the student said "back pocket for a while," I figured out everything was damp...due to butt sweat. And while the rest of the conversation happened, my internal dialog was screaming "EMERGENCY! BUTT SWEAT ON MY HANDS!!! EMERGENCY! BUTT SWEAT ON MY HANDS!!!" And that is EXACTLY why those bleach wipes exist. I figure the forms can dry out overnight and will hopefully be far less grody tomorrow.
And even though this is pretty grody, I actually dealt with much worse working at the herb store. That's the sort of place where customers want your opinion on rashes and will show them despite your protests. So in the whole of my experience, sweat-dampened forms aren't too bad. But still. And this gets me to thinking that telling stories like these are why I'm one classy gal. So it goes.
An Erinku (before I wash my hands, yet again):
day eight
of wishing
I'd remember
ice cream at the store
