The germy paper towel challenge

Walking from Penn Station to a dinner music club last night put me out in midtown for the first time in a few weeks.  As I made the walk, I was harshly assaulted with all the reasons I look forward to the day I move out of New York City.  There was the guy throwing things at cop cars; there was the dude standing in the middle of the crosswalk giving an ambulance the finger as he slowed it getting wherever it needed to go so that he could accomplish his far more important task of crossing the street five seconds earlier; there was the dude who shoved me forward off the curb into a puddle of water; there was the woman who shoved me sideways on the sidewalk under an awning that was mysteriously pouring water (at least I hope it was water)....  By the time I reached the concert venue, ready to enjoy the always-wonderful Denny Laine (Don't worry -- if you're near my age you won't have any clue who he is; if you're older, he's that dude from Wings who's last name isn't McCartney, and if you're older than that, he's the original lead singer of the Moody Blues), I had already muttered "I hate New York City" to myself several times and was dreaming about a nice house in Cabot Cove, Maine (yes, my ideal real estate destination is the murder capital of the world, but I dream of a version of this fictional town without serial killer Jessica Fletcher). 

I found my fiancé already in line to get in, exasperatedly told him to start thinking about other cities he wanted to live in and jobs he could get elsewhere, and was relieved to duck inside the dark, cozy music venue that left the New York City I hate outside and was instead filled with the New York City I love -- a city that gives me the opportunity to see live music and theatre I wouldn't get the chance to see elsewhere.  When I was in middle school and high school, I'd thumb through records at our local used book store, and by the time I graduated high school, I owned every Wings album on vinyl.  If you'd told me then I'd get to see Denny Laine live twice, I'd be totally excited.  I still am.  So, seated in the front row of tables, with over an hour to go before the concert started, we ordered dinner and I let go of the negative experiences outside and settled in, ensconced in happy anticipation.  All was good.  I was safe.

And then I remembered.  I remembered the one thing I hate about this venue.

The bathroom attendants.

I really hate bathroom attendants.  And here's why: You turn on the sink, you soap up your hands, you wash away the germs, you turn off the handle with your sleeved arm so you don't get any germs on your hands, and then... you get handed a paper towel that's already had someone else's hands all over it, so you can rub their germs all over your hands and completely undo the hand-washing.  Someone please explain to me why anyone thinks this is a good idea, or why this should be something you tip for.  Option A: I take a nice clean paper towel from the paper towel dispenser right next to me, or Option B: I take a paper towel that some stranger has had their hands on, and I give them money for it.  Nope.  I just don't get it.

 

I guess I should explain here that I've been extremely prone to infection since I've come to New York, so I'm a germaphobe... I therefore refuse to take the paper towel from the bathroom attendant's hands and risk getting sick.  Plus I work with kids.  So I get enough germs all on my own without having to tip for them, thank you very much.  This leaves me with a few options: 1. I can wash my hands and then when the attendant tries to hand me a paper towel, say, "No, thank you" and bolt out of the room.  If I do this and have to return to the bathroom later that evening, I'm sure to be met with death glares from the attendant, who thinks I've personally snubbed her, so I better not drink anything for the rest of the evening if I go with Option #1.  2. I can fuss with my hair long enough before going to a sink that I ensure I get the sink directly next to the paper towel dispenser.  Then I can grab a paper towel really fast before she has time to hand me one and pretend I didn't do it on purpose.  This allows me to return to the bathroom without getting any dirty looks from her, but then I can't use the same tactic the second time.  3. I can manipulate when I finish washing my hands so that the bathroom attendant is busy handing out paper towels to other people and I can use the opportunity to slip on by and out the door unnoticed.  I'm good at going unnoticed.  Heck, I did it for four years straight in high school.  So I tend to go for Option #3.

So as dinner was winding down and with a few minutes left before the concert started, I announced to my fiancé my intentions to go conquer the "Germy paper towel challenge."  My mission: to get out of the bathroom with clean hands and without the bathroom attendant thinking I'm a horrible person.  He wished me luck, told me to "stay strong," and off I went.

So as I enter the restroom, I see the dreaded bathroom attendant sitting on a chair in there.  She holds her phone in one hand, talking into it, the paper towels in her lap, and she's running her free hand through her hair, along her scalp.  A little cartoon image pops up in my head of all sorts of little cartoon germs jumping off her scalp and hair and onto her hand as she runs it through her hair.  The cartoon germs look a lot like the characters from The Magic School Bus.  This makes me wonder if I dreamt that I saw a poster at a bus-stop a few weeks ago advertising a reboot of The Magic School Bus or if it really happened, and if I did dream it, why am I dreaming about The Magic School Bus? Also, this makes me sad that Saturday morning cartoons are no longer a thing.  I liked Saturday morning cartoons.  Anyway, as I reapply my lip gloss in front of the mirror, plotting my course of action to accomplish my mission, a woman comes out of a stall. The attendant takes her hand out of her hair as the woman is washing her hands, and with that germy hand breaks off a paper towel (and all the little cartoon germs jump off her hand and onto the towel) clutching it in her hand as the woman finishes washing her hands.  And so the unwitting woman, with clean hands, takes the germy paper towel, rubs her hands all over it, then throws it away and opens the bathroom door and walks out.  With germy hands. 

Fortunately for me, a rush of women entered the restroom then, enabling my plan to employ Option #3, and I ultimately managed to escape with clean -- albeit wet -- hands and only a germy sleeve from touching the door handle.

Mission accomplished.

So, in conclusion, bathroom attendants are a threat to public health, The Magic School Bus was just fine the first time around and doesn't need to be reinvented, and Saturday morning cartoons should come back.  Also, Denny Laine is really good: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKZOeqmqwZs