It was 4,000 degrees Fahrenheit today in the gym.  I don't know why, but heat seems to intensify the grossness and germ laden sweat arena of any gym.  I would forgo fans blowing at me and instead rather they provide squirt guns that regularly and automatically pelt me with Purell. This gym though is not quite as filled with bacteria as the YMCA in the town I moved from. I eventually quit using their facility after getting a bad virus that I picked up there.  I do have a bit of Howard Hughes in me, minus the long fingernails.

There are guidelines for a modicum of cleanliness in the gym; get the spray bottle and paper towel and wipe down the equipment when you are done.  Everyone too should respect your exercising neighbor's space with a volume restriction and closed captioning requirement for all treadmill TVs.  You should also have to turn your TV off after you finish on your piece of equipment, along with wiping off the remote you touched.  I do wish they would give me a whistle to blow at those folks that do not abide by clean and respectful exercising guidelines. They irritate and expose me unnecessarily to bacteria.

Some people barely spray the paper towel with cleaner.  A barely sprayed paper towel in Arizona [it's a dry heat] literally can be almost dry from the time it takes to spray it and walk to the equipment for wipe down.  I've seen a few disregard the wipe down policy altogether.  They think because they only used the piece of equipment for a few minutes [slacker quitters!] it exempts them from the need to wipe it down.  [My whistle would be blowing on that infraction!!!  Why don't they give me that authority?:)]

If I wash my hands with hot soapy water anytime I return home from being in stores, around people, etc, what do you think I want to do at the gym? If I knew that heat stroke wouldn't ensue, I would gear up in a hazmat suit to run on the treadmill.  It is purely my outrageous love of a good sweat and exercise that keeps me going in spite of the bacteria zone all around me. 

Today we stopped out at our house to see the progress of our remodel construction zone.  While there, the man who was delivering the tile pulled in the driveway.  He immediately asked if he could use the bathroom as he had been driving for a couple of hours.  Now my OCD started up.  I tried to quell it as we aren't even living there yet.  Since there was so much mess and construction going on the bathroom hadn't been cleaned thoroughly.  It would be futile at this junction.  None-the-less, a stranger and his parts touching various and a sundry things in my personal bathroom was about to freak me out.  Where the hell was the bleach!! 

I showed him where the master bathroom was since it was the only bathroom with a toilet still in it.  While he went to the bathroom I fretted a bit about the fact that I had not put the liquid soap and roll of paper towel in there. It was a willy-nilly dirty paint and tile zone everywhere, but I still wanted to provide the construction crew with a way to wash their hands. 

Joe the tile delivery man emerged from what would soon be my master bathroom.  I said, "I know there was no soap and paper towel in there.  Over by the kitchen sink is some soap and towels."  Joe didn't bat an eye, " I'm good!"  Oh my word!  What in the hell was I going to do now?  The picture of a black light on his hands made me force back a gag!  I'm good!  I on the other hand was far from good.

All I could think about was all that he had and would touch since exiting the bathroom without washing his hands!  In what world, especially when someone lets you use their private bathroom, was it ok to NOT wash your hands.  Who does that!

1 comment: