MAY CONTAIN CONTENT GERMAPHOBES WOULD BE BETTER OFF NOT READING
Imagine standing at a urinal in a restaurant, and the guy who’s making your pizza steps right up next to you. You know him, so despite the “man code” violation of talking while urinating, you awkwardly make small chat and stare at the one little blue tile on the wall, praying for the conversation to end.
Just as the conversation seems to be coming to a close, pizza guy steps aside, zips up and tells you he is going to make you the best pizza you’ve ever had. And just like that, he turns for the door and makes his exit, minus one thing: soap and water.
Yes, I stole this from “Seinfeld,” and if you remember, Jerry and Poppy played out this exact scenario. Just imagine those dirty hands kneading your pizza dough, delicately placing the pepperonis and sprinkling on copious amounts of cheese. It makes for a good sitcom, but does it actually happen in real life? Honestly, I would prefer not to know.
A recent study in England found that 26 percent of hands tested had traces of fecal matter and E. coli. Sorry, I just threw up a little in my mouth. If that’s not nauseating enough, 11 percent showed gross contamination, meaning the levels of fecal matter and bacteria registered at dirty toilet bowl levels.
My first reaction to this article, other than my stomache turning, was, “Oh well, that’s just how British people are.” My second reaction hit a little more close to home.
My office is literally across the hall from a restroom, and spending as much time as I do working at the newspaper, this has turned into my “restroom away from home.” I have been blown away at how many students decide they would rather take out what they brought in than take a minute and use a little soap and water to leave things where they belong.
This brings me to something I hesitate to even give one sentence to in print, but we have on the loose what has been dubbed the “Poop Bandit” by our custodial team. Apparently, once a week, this degenerate leaves a fecal surprise on a mirror for our heroic janitors. I don’t use that term lightly—they are heroes. As an eye witness to the mayhem left by this loser, I salute our custodial crew.
Are we really so immature that we can’t wash our hands when our mommies aren’t watching? You may laugh at the “Poop Bandit,” and I’ll admit to a slight chuckle myself, but seriously? I don’t even want to think of the logistics of accomplishing such a task.
There is about a 1-in-35,000 chance that you may walk past the Poop Bandit, shake his hand or heaven forbid, one of you lovely young ladies might actually give this infant your phone number. If the date goes well, you might end up holding his poopy hand. Even if it’s not the Poop Bandit, from my rudimentary observations, you have about a fifty/fifty shot your date washed his hands after a potty-break.
I only have one thing to say to the Poop Bandit: Run and hide. You haven’t been caught, nobody knows who you are and trust me, this is not the kind of publicity you want. All eyes are now on the lookout for you, and if and when you are caught, the full force and power of the student body will drop the hammer of justice on you without a hint of compassion.
We may not know who you are yet, but when we catch you, just remember you left your DNA all over the crime scene.