When cashiers started dousing themselves with Purell, I said nothing.
When they started wearing surgical gloves, or those goofy little mittens that look like they’re made out of Saran Wrap, I said nothing.
Not even when cashiers started balancing the coins from my change on top of the paper money and tentatively holidng it out toward me did I say a shitting thing.
But now I’m afraid it’s time to say something.
You may not throw my change at me, as if physical contact with my hands will automatically give you the plague. You may not flick it at me, hoping to cover the distance between our two hands, and act surprised when I’m not expecting a toss and change ends up bouncing all over the floor.
Yes, I am aware that coming into physical contact with hundreds of human beings during the course of the day may put you at an increased risk of getting a cold or something along those lines. It’s called an “occupational hazard,” and many cashiers have simply dealt with it over the years. There are plenty of alternatives to physical contact, from wearing rubber gloves to placing my change and receipt on the counter. I resent, however, the notion that throwing something at me is preferable to making actual physical contact with me.
I believe I look presentable enough. I have to shake hands with countless business associates during the course of the day. None of them has ended up with Space Herpes, flesh-eating fungus or so much as a cold. Nor have I been recently coughing, picking my nose or dipping my hands in biohazardous waste. So there’s no excuse for throwing my change at me. Either put some gloves on, go the Purell route, or suck it up.
I’m really starting to tire of this unreasonable germophobia that seems to be permeating our culture. People get colds. Germs fucking happen. Get over it.
I’m perfectly willing to let it slide if people who have regular physical contact with other people as a part of their job duties want to wear gloves or use antibacterial products. But evidently, that’s not good enough for some people. I’m guessing that the passive-aggressive continual Purell soakings haven’t adequately made the point, so cashiers have resorted to flicking change at people to avoid any physical contact whatsoever and continually remind folks that they’re all walking Petri dishes.
Next time somebody flicks change at me, I’m flicking it back (somewhat more forcefully) at the center of his forehead.