…It’s something else.

We all know that my world is in no way sanitary.  I work in a kindergarten classroom.  I get sneezed on multiple times a day.  I watch children (and when possible instruct them NOT to) eat their own boogers as casually as lemon pez.  I once watched as a child coughed up (previously digested) lasagna onto her elbow, and then without hesitation, like a little baby bird, ate it off again.  I try my best to wash my hands multiple times a day.  I drink lots of water.  I take chinese herbs to help with my immune system.  I am trying to make myself into a germ fighting robot (preferably with laser beam eyes, because that would be cooler).

Yesterday, I came face to face with another surprise hands on sanitary issue.

The preschool teacher has procured a new pet for her classroom.  A miniature turtle, about the size of a pencil sharpener.  Originally she brought in kittens for her class, without asking anyone if that would be a good idea.  It wasn’t.  She had to take those home.  She then got a bird.  The bird is still there.  Maybe next week she will bring in a goat.  I am not sure.  A small zoo seems to be forming in her hands over there.  Anywho, after school I got a chance to see the new little turtle.  She asked if I wanted to hold it.  I said sure… why not.   I picked him up.  He was cute.  I asked her if the children were allowed to hold the turtle.  I was wondering how three year olds would handle a fragile turtle his size.  She answered “Oh, no.  I cannot allow them to hold him.  He is technically illegal.  You know, because they carry salmonella.”

Speechless.

This little turtle is already in a wet, little, possibly infectious puddle in my hands.  Classic.  I try not to be rude about it.  Finish my “visit” with this nausea inducing host, and then scutter over to the sink to wash my hands three times.  I didn’t just wash my hands, I scrubbed.  For dramatic effect, I would go so far as to say I scrubbed the living shit out of them.  Once with hand soap.  Once with palmolive.  Once with  a combo.  I tried to think back to all of those episodes of Grey’s I had watched, and imitated that deep surgical clean that comes before you are allowed to slice someone open.

On my way home from work that day, I took my normal route.  I have considered changing this route home on many occasions… however, just haven’t really gotten around to it yet.  It’s the easiest way home.  And call me lazy, but who wants to mess with easy?  Granted, I have witnessed a daylight mugging on this street, a possibly gang related beat-down, and a man with no legs riding in a wheelchair with his chubby cat whom he dresses in American Flag sweaters (note: this man is no reason to change route. he is a show stopper.) It just seems to be kind of a strange part of the valley… and very active street.  Anyway, I am on my way home and I have to make a sudden stop because there is a slightly disheveled man hobbling into the street sans shoes while on crutches. I am concerned immediately.  Does he need help?  He picks something up in the gutter, that I later come to identify as a ceramic mug, and throws it at a docile hobo sitting near the bus stop.  Oh shit.  I was taken aback by this.  Working in kindy, I know that throwing is pretty much unacceptable.  This is all happening a few feet from my car.  I am getting nervous.  The light is red.  No one is moving.  The hobo becomes agitated, and then throws his Smirnoff bottle at the man on crutches.  Uh oh.  They begin to argue.  The light turns green.  Thank you, Jesus.  I was concerned that I was going to have a full out hobo-war broken out on the hood of my Honda.  Perhaps I should have been more concerned about crutches guy and agitated hobo… I am sure they are fine.  They seemed resilient… the way cats are.  In that Nine Lives sort of way.

After surviving a masterful evening of potential salmonella poisoning via turtle flesh, and a hobo street fight… I was feeling lucky.  I went to hula, danced my heart out, came home, ate dinner, went to sleep.

Flash-forward to today.  1:15pm.  Naptime.  I reach into my purse to pull out my glasses, so that I might read the children a story accurately.  I feel something sticky.

Gum.

Gum has seemed to adhere itself to my glasses case.  Not just any gum, mind you… unidentified A.B.C. (already been chewed) gum, in a flourecent wad… that was NOT MINE.  How, I ask… did stranger gum manage to make its way inside my purse?  Is someone out to get me.  Am I involved in a germ war that I don’t even know about?  Do I currently have herpes on my hand? Hep C?  ACK.

And, so began my second surgical scrub in with the palmolive.

You know what they say:  If it’s not Salmonella…it’s something else.

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~ by soartsyithurts on October 1, 2009.

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