I Won’t Be Shaking His Hands

P

reviously, I have written about the bad urinal habit of some men at school. I hate the idea of toilet plumes filling the air with little droplets of urine. I hate to piss even more into someone else’s piss–because he lacked the courtesy to flush his own–splattering our mixed piss onto my clothes–If you think splatter doesn’t get onto you to some degree, you’re fooling yourself. So I will flush before I piss, but the thought of the pluming droplets being someone else’s urine is enough to make me want to hold it until I get home.

Anyway, not flushing after yourself is a pretty disgusting habit. But I sometimes gave these guys the benefit of the doubt: Public toilets are pretty filthy and no one really wants to touch anything not attached to their own body. So the other day, I walk into the head to take a leak and there’s a guy who is just finishing. Of course, he doesn’t flush. But I figure he’s one of those clean freaks, unwilling to touch anything in the restroom. Still, I would think that you would have to at least touch the water faucet to wash your hands, right? Well, out of the corner of my eye, I watch this dude stop in front of the mirror, fix his hair a bit, pick his nose, and leave… WITHOUT WASHING HIS HANDS!

Oh my freakin’ God!

I’m kinda stunned as I try to figure out what I just witnessed. The toilet handle is too dirty to flush his own piss, but his dick–and of course the very fingers he was just holding them with–were clean enough to touch up his hair and pick his nose. Where do these guys come from? I think our school should make a hygiene class a part of the General Curriculum Requirement. No one should graduate a university without realizing how discourteous it is to not flush after one’s self, and how FILTHY it is to not wash hands.

But at that moment, all I could think of was: Omigod! Where is he going? To class? Is he going hand in a paper to his professor with fingers filmy with his urine and snot? Will he sit at a desk, leaving his germs for the next student to wipe up? Will he put his arms around his girl friend’s bare shoulder? Will he shake your hand? Will you then shake mine? Oh crap, this is disgusting! Do any of my students practice these very same habits? Handing in papers to me? Coming into my office? Sitting in my chairs? Touching my books? OooOoOoooOoh!

The thoughts were swirling around my brain so fast, that I got dizzy and almost missed the urinal myself. O-toh-toh-toh. Nice save. After I finished and flushed, I washed my hands extra vigorously, seemingly to wash enough for him and me. But in reality I was probably trying to wash the images out of my mind vicariously through my hands.

Anyway, not to put too fine a point on it–When you’re in a public toilet, please flush after yourself, and definitely wash your hands after you use the toilet.

This has been an unpaid public service announcement.

I Won’t Be Shaking His Hands

P

reviously, I have written about the bad urinal habit of some men at school. I hate the idea of toilet plumes filling the air with little droplets of urine. I hate to piss even more into someone else’s piss–because he lacked the courtesy to flush his own–splattering our mixed piss onto my clothes–If you think splatter doesn’t get onto you to some degree, you’re fooling yourself. So I will flush before I piss, but the thought of the pluming droplets being someone else’s urine is enough to make me want to hold it until I get home.

Anyway, not flushing after yourself is a pretty disgusting habit. But I sometimes gave these guys the benefit of the doubt: Public toilets are pretty filthy and no one really wants to touch anything not attached to their own body. So the other day, I walk into the head to take a leak and there’s a guy who is just finishing. Of course, he doesn’t flush. But I figure he’s one of those clean freaks, unwilling to touch anything in the restroom. Still, I would think that you would have to at least touch the water faucet to wash your hands, right? Well, out of the corner of my eye, I watch this dude stop in front of the mirror, fix his hair a bit, pick his nose, and leave… WITHOUT WASHING HIS HANDS!

Oh my freakin’ God!

I’m kinda stunned as I try to figure out what I just witnessed. The toilet handle is too dirty to flush his own piss, but his dick–and of course the very fingers he was just holding them with–were clean enough to touch up his hair and pick his nose. Where do these guys come from? I think our school should make a hygiene class a part of the General Curriculum Requirement. No one should graduate a university without realizing how discourteous it is to not flush after one’s self, and how FILTHY it is to not wash hands.

But at that moment, all I could think of was: Omigod! Where is he going? To class? Is he going hand in a paper to his professor with fingers filmy with his urine and snot? Will he sit at a desk, leaving his germs for the next student to wipe up? Will he put his arms around his girl friend’s bare shoulder? Will he shake your hand? Will you then shake mine? Oh crap, this is disgusting! Do any of my students practice these very same habits? Handing in papers to me? Coming into my office? Sitting in my chairs? Touching my books? OooOoOoooOoh!

The thoughts were swirling around my brain so fast, that I got dizzy and almost missed the urinal myself. O-toh-toh-toh. Nice save. After I finished and flushed, I washed my hands extra vigorously, seemingly to wash enough for him and me. But in reality I was probably trying to wash the images out of my mind vicariously through my hands.

Anyway, not to put too fine a point on it–When you’re in a public toilet, please flush after yourself, and definitely wash your hands after you use the toilet.

This has been an unpaid public service announcement.

If It’s Not One Emergency…

I

have to admit that I really suck at organizing my life. I put off my taxes to the very last moment but luckily get them in on time. Now its back to real work. I know that I have a lot of grading to do. So what do I do? Have a curry party with my students. Go out to dinner with M. I have a PhD in Japanese Lit and in Procrastination Sciences.

At school today, I’m at my desk with a mountain of papers in front of me–47 to be exact. I start to grade the first paper on top and am immediately bored. Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch a glimpse of a book that looks unfamiliar to me on my shelf. Naturally, I reach for it. It’s a collection of stories from the Showa era that were, over the years, published in the journal, Chuo koron. The name of one author catches my eyes. Akutagawa Ryunosuke–Shunkinsho (Portrait of Shunkin). Of course, I open to that page and start reading it. In fact, I read the first section, before getting bored and noticing another author. Enchi Fumiko–Onnazaka (The Waiting Years). Hmmm, this is interesting….

I then hit myself in the noggin with my knuckles to wake myself up. What the shit are you doing? I ask myself, rather stupidly. I return to the mountain and all I can do is sigh. Whooo… I’m glad there were no students outside my door to see me act like a wierdo.

I’m now home, eager to get this grading done, but of course, I have to check my e-mail, something I rarely do. I click on my browser and “accidentally” click on the link to Xanga, and voila! Here I am, procrastinating even more.

Okay, okay, I will not bore you any more with this drivel. It is pointless and a total waste of your time and mine.

Do you ever feel like just not doing something?

If It’s Not One Emergency…

I

have to admit that I really suck at organizing my life. I put off my taxes to the very last moment but luckily get them in on time. Now its back to real work. I know that I have a lot of grading to do. So what do I do? Have a curry party with my students. Go out to dinner with M. I have a PhD in Japanese Lit and in Procrastination Sciences.

At school today, I’m at my desk with a mountain of papers in front of me–47 to be exact. I start to grade the first paper on top and am immediately bored. Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch a glimpse of a book that looks unfamiliar to me on my shelf. Naturally, I reach for it. It’s a collection of stories from the Showa era that were, over the years, published in the journal, Chuo koron. The name of one author catches my eyes. Akutagawa Ryunosuke–Shunkinsho (Portrait of Shunkin). Of course, I open to that page and start reading it. In fact, I read the first section, before getting bored and noticing another author. Enchi Fumiko–Onnazaka (The Waiting Years). Hmmm, this is interesting….

I then hit myself in the noggin with my knuckles to wake myself up. What the shit are you doing? I ask myself, rather stupidly. I return to the mountain and all I can do is sigh. Whooo… I’m glad there were no students outside my door to see me act like a wierdo.

I’m now home, eager to get this grading done, but of course, I have to check my e-mail, something I rarely do. I click on my browser and “accidentally” click on the link to Xanga, and voila! Here I am, procrastinating even more.

Okay, okay, I will not bore you any more with this drivel. It is pointless and a total waste of your time and mine.

Do you ever feel like just not doing something?

If It’s Not One Emergency…

I

have to admit that I really suck at organizing my life. I put off my taxes to the very last moment but luckily get them in on time. Now its back to real work. I know that I have a lot of grading to do. So what do I do? Have a curry party with my students. Go out to dinner with M. I have a PhD in Japanese Lit and in Procrastination Sciences.

At school today, I’m at my desk with a mountain of papers in front of me–47 to be exact. I start to grade the first paper on top and am immediately bored. Out of the corner of my eyes, I catch a glimpse of a book that looks unfamiliar to me on my shelf. Naturally, I reach for it. It’s a collection of stories from the Showa era that were, over the years, published in the journal, Chuo koron. The name of one author catches my eyes. Akutagawa Ryunosuke–Shunkinsho (Portrait of Shunkin). Of course, I open to that page and start reading it. In fact, I read the first section, before getting bored and noticing another author. Enchi Fumiko–Onnazaka (The Waiting Years). Hmmm, this is interesting….

I then hit myself in the noggin with my knuckles to wake myself up. What the shit are you doing? I ask myself, rather stupidly. I return to the mountain and all I can do is sigh. Whooo… I’m glad there were no students outside my door to see me act like a wierdo.

I’m now home, eager to get this grading done, but of course, I have to check my e-mail, something I rarely do. I click on my browser and “accidentally” click on the link to Xanga, and voila! Here I am, procrastinating even more.

Okay, okay, I will not bore you any more with this drivel. It is pointless and a total waste of your time and mine.

Do you ever feel like just not doing something?

Have You Filed?

I

t is 11:20 PM, April 15, 2006. I have just sent in my Federal Income Tax Return electronically. Since the 15th falls on a weekend this year, the filing date is actually Monday, the 17th. But there is something about getting it out on April 15th. I am getting a return–admittedly a modest one–so I should have filed earlier so i could get my money earlier, but there is just something about April 15th.

In any event, it’s out in the Internet ether making its way to the Internal Revenue Service.

Have you file yet?

April Showers…

M

ay bring May flowers to some, but to me they bring on the start of allergy season. I sucks, I tell ya’, totally sucks. The pollen in the air is thick and every orifice in my body is a waiting receptacle for these nasty things. It is killing me…

In March, when some of the tree pollen was increasing, I was deal with it. But Since the April showers of a week ago, the grass pollen has flourished and it is attacking me without mercy. My eyes itch, my nose is stuffed up and my throat is soar. I am losing sleep… literally. I can’t breathe so I wake up from lack of oxygen. Since I am forced to breathe through my mouth, my throat is dry and irritable and I am convinced that the pollen is having a picnic somewhere past my tonsils. I suppose my body is reacting to this infestation of pollen and I have had a slight fever for the past few days. And probably as an additional freebie, I have a headache. I am living in hell, right now. I had all these papers to grade this past weekend–82 to be exact–but couldn’t focus because my body was going bonkers.

Will someone shoot me? No wait, that was E’s line I think…

I’ve tried over the counter medicines, but they either make me drowsy or they make my heart race. I guess the non-drowsy meds like Claritin contain some kind of stimulant, but my body is super-sensitive to such drugs. My heart beat rises and my fingertips get numb. Kinda scary. This happens I have one too many cups of coffee. It would probably happen if I took those diet drugs as well. No stimulants for me…

Anyway, each morning I check weather.com to see the pollen levels for my area and groan to see that both tree and grass pollen are present now. Yesterday, I went to school thinking I could tough it out, but I was wrong. By the time I got home, I was a mess. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Nothing. So today, I came to school in my mask. I also wear a baseball cap. People are staring at me, and I wonder if they think I just robbed a bank. M laughs, saying I look like the Morinaga Man, the guy who poisoned some caramel candy in Japan. He too wore sunglasses, a baseball cap and a mask.

*sigh*

But I know this will allow me to breathe better when I get home. So I will put up with (the perceived) slights. I swear, this is killing me.