With all due respect to those who have lost limbs by way of unfortunately-timed detonations, they don't have to deal with the bacterial minefield that is the handle of the door on the toilet cubicle. That, my friend, is real danger.
You know those 20/20-style exposés where they shine a UV light on hotel bedspreads and see all those various forms of excrement spread across it like peanut butter? I shudder to think of a similar test on Saatchi's bathrooms. Of course, this is a problem far from exclusive to Saatchis, I'm just using their name as a way to somewhat ambiguously link this Saatchi-focussed blog to a subject I've wanted to blog about for like, ages.
We all have our own secret techniques, don't we? Our bacteria-avoidance manouevres, or BAMs. Some like to swathe their hand(s) in toilet paper, in order to avoid any accidental brush of the bog. Others wash their hands like an autistic kid with chronic OCD, until their fingernail enamel is all but gone. I like to use the 1-finger technique (no, this isn't foreplay 101) when opening doors, thereby minimising the likelihood of covering my entire hand in my colleagues' germies.
What strikes me as odd, however, are those cavalier few who are so impervious to the potential of an all-out bacteria assault that they choose to take a non-precautionary approach, i.e., not wash their hands. In a way, it's a bit like staring a wide-jawed lion in the eyes and saying "Fuck you, potential bacteria", but to the casual observer, it's also a bit like "Ew, you didn't wash your hands", and come on now, that's just gross.
You would respect - at least, one would hope you would - Kenyan land mines, so I think it's high time you raise up and respect the soap, fool.
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