Some Might Call It OCD. I Call It an Isolated Incident.

Yesterday, on my bargain-hunting quest, I popped into The Dollar Store to look for things I couldn't find at The Dollar Tree. One thing I found was that The Dollar Store needs to change its name to The Five-Dollar Store. Used to be, you could get things there for a dollar. Don't count on it now.

I did, however find some items on the clearance end-cap for fifteen cents. FIFTEEN CENTS! Can't beat that with a stick! But what I would like to beat with a stick is the woman who was ahead of me in line. Sorry. I am not a tolerant person at times. Times when instead of going through the checkout line between the magazines, last-minute candy and battery displays, and the cart corral, a person comes in sideways and gives me the evil eye like I am the one going against convention. Criminy! I know she was there ahead of me. Excuse my audacity to stand in the actual line. It's not like I was trying to cut her off or ask for cuts from the smelly old man handing over his money.

As if that was not bad enough, she was hacking up her left lung and half the right. See, if she had been in the line proper, her effusions would have gone straight ahead. But as it was, she was sending them at right angles to my respiratory system. AND the checker had the same germ-dispensing act down pat. So bad was it that I actually turned my head toward the back of the line to avoid breathing their spray.

When Sideways Susie finished her transaction, both giving and receiving a dose of Stephen King Superflu to and from Checker, she left her tiny yellow-handled cart right there. At a right angle to the counter. Didn't even bother to push it into the cart corral. Wench. I hipped it out of my path. No way no how was I touching Sideways Susie's infected buggy. I even pulled my shirt collar up over my mouth to get a somewhat filtered breath of air while Checker bagged my bargains.

The next step was to get to my car without contracting their crud. I opened the store door and turned immediately into the 30 mph wind. There. I got a good breath. Then I put my bag in the back seat, climbed in, and grabbed my GermX. A good scrubby dub dub, a wipe of the steering wheel with a clean tissue, another scrubby dub dub, a blow of the nose to get rid of any virus that might have invaded, a swig of water to wash any back-throat virus into my deadly stomach acid, and I was off for home. I made certain that I did not allow my hands anywhere near my face. No scratching, no eye-rubbing, no picking of teeth or nose. Gosh. Doesn't that make you want to get to know me on a personal level? I'm a regular high-class lady, I am.

After carrying in the bags, I washed my hands with soap and water before I began construction of my big salad for lunch. I don't want to seem like a germophobe. I don't do this routinely. But that double-whammy made me a bit paranoid. Even though I had the flu shot, there's no need to temp fate.