Ladies, there are only two types of guys- those who wash their hands after they go to the bathroom, and those who don’t. The ratio is about fifty-fifty.
As a fussy, obsessive-compulsive freak, I’m among the washers. After cleansing my hands in a public sink, I’m often forced to touch a doorknob to exit. I usually improvise by using an extra paper towel to open the door. Then I have to hunt down a trash can.
Sometimes this solution isn’t an option. Many buildings go cheap by using hot air machines in their restrooms. Thanks for the germ carnival, McDonald's!
And it’s not just that I don’t like other guys’ fresh urine and feces on my hands. The bathroom door pictured, for instance, is at St. Luke’s Hospital. Who knows what kind of cooties are on that handle.
Next week's topic in Phobics-R-Us: Handshakes.