There’s nothing worse than a clammy handshake. Seriously.
I know that bad breath and body odours are two major social interaction turnoffs, not to mention trying to dodge someone’s spit whilst they speak to you, but a clammy handshake is by far the most disgusting. Reason being it’s physical, textured and sensory. Imagine my face when I’m in a situation where I can’t sanitise my hands immediately afterwards because it isn’t considered to be the most polite thing to do. I try everything to hold it together, I can’t let my facial expressions run loose to reveal my inadequacy because, let’s face it, I’m a self confessed germophobe.
You stand face to face or sit across from each other, the clammy handed culprit talking [and talking] as if nothing has happened, oblivious to your inner monologue and internal meltdown, as having perfected your poker face, nod along like you aren’t consciously trying to avoid touching any of your personal items.
Regardless of how many times your phone rings, triggering the watch on your wrist and your iPad in your backpack, you’re powerless. The fingers you’ve paired with Touch ID are all on the contaminated hand so you can’t unlock anything with the left -well not that you can’t but choose not to or even touch the watch because it sits on my left wrist and unless I was some sort of Mr Fantastic I can’t exactly bend my finger the opposite way to touch the screen.
There’s no antiseptic gel in sight as we’re not in a hospital or a place where you’ll find a dispenser but I do have a wet wipe from last nights seedy 2am trip to the local Morley’s.
How will I reach inside my backpack if we’re in the middle of a conversation?
Is there a polite way to offer someone a squirt of antiseptic gel as you would a mint?
Would a Morley’s wet wipe even suffice?
It probably won’t leave you feeling any better but it’s a great start. It has a citrus scent and an artsy lemon logo on the front, with the retro pin-up font. It stings the skin slightly on first contact, and there’s times when I don’t know whether it’s melting the skin or a by-product of germs being taking out by antiseptic microbe-x. I won’t complain but it made me wonder why I left the travel bottle of scented antiseptic gel in my partner’s bag, rather than return it to my backpack.
I feel like I may have to cut this ‘stop and chat’ short or disappear from the session on a sly just to sanitise my hands. It’s not like there’s anything significant to be said outside of random generic small talk, you know the restrictive code type of communication convo (word to Basil Bernstein’s theory of coded communication between participants of the culture and outsiders -restrictive and elaborate).
Me: Yo! Fam, long time brudda, what you bin on?
Him: You know me fam, same ol ting, just grindin’.
Me: Seen, I hear that fam. Gotta get that p innit.
Him: Ya dun kno arready brudda, you still on da music ting?
Me: *dies inside at that cringe worthy question before answering* Here and there.
Him: Have you got beats and studio cah man got couple Mandem that are on this ting.
Me: I’ve got a few bits I could send.
Him: I know you got them bangers fam!
Me: Safe fam, mans gotta bounce tho so I’ll catch you on the rebound. Bless up!
Once outta sight I ripped open the wet wipe packet like my life depended on it. Who knows maybe it did because being on the grind all day everyday, people involve themselves in a whole lot of dirt. Same goes for people I meet at work or in transit; I hate touching bin lids and handles, not to mention putting my hands in communal packets and bowls of snacks (Along Came Polly is partially to blame).
Maybe I should register a knuckle or two for this type of scenario, maybe I should create a mini antiseptic fluid bottle, attached to a Carabina belt clip like the Sriracha sauce so as soon as the clammy handshake arises, I can sanitise my hands on a sly. As far afield as these ideas sound, I’ll try the knuckle on Touch ID because at least the fingerprint identity sensor can still register the electric pulses… I did actually manage to add my knuckle to my registered fingerprints, after a whole lot of hard work so I’m ready for the next clammy hand that comes my way.
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Originally published on WHTVRINNIT.
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