Tuttle
Contributing Member
Today I may have come into contact with Ebola at my workplace, and the really scary part is that the woman who may have it does not give the first shit about hygiene.
The topic title actually derives from her tramp stamp. Which, in addition to being the finest shorthand I could imagine for “I could not give less of a shit about anyone but myself if I stopped social interaction altogether,” is a Stephen King touch if ever I saw one in real life.
She mentioned casually that her eyes were bloodshot and that'd never occurred with her seasonal allergies before – keep in mind she also mentioned having gone through a chemo regimen – then proceeded to wipe her hand on her nose and paw over pretty much every jewelry item we stock. Also, her feet were rather ruddy. I repeatedly suggested that she wash her hands, or at least let us know if she did turn out to have Ebola, and she just said “you're freaking me out” and proceeded just as before. During the process, she pricked her finger on two brooches.
I duly warned the cashiers, washed my hands, wiped down everything I knew her to have touched with alcohol swabs (very few porous surfaces, thankfully, and those were discardable), and there's no chance there was contact with anything but my healthy shin during the whole transaction, but with the time she took in the jewelry section, I can't imagine I covered everything she touched in the store. The cashiers brought out the hand sanitizer – I don't believe that stuff actually works on viruses, but I will obviously want confirmation on that score.
For interested parties, I'm in the Denver metro area, and the woman is about forty or fifty in face, thirty in body, with short iron-gray hair, and she was accompanied by a rather stoic, long-suffering toothless old man I judge to be her father.
The topic title actually derives from her tramp stamp. Which, in addition to being the finest shorthand I could imagine for “I could not give less of a shit about anyone but myself if I stopped social interaction altogether,” is a Stephen King touch if ever I saw one in real life.
She mentioned casually that her eyes were bloodshot and that'd never occurred with her seasonal allergies before – keep in mind she also mentioned having gone through a chemo regimen – then proceeded to wipe her hand on her nose and paw over pretty much every jewelry item we stock. Also, her feet were rather ruddy. I repeatedly suggested that she wash her hands, or at least let us know if she did turn out to have Ebola, and she just said “you're freaking me out” and proceeded just as before. During the process, she pricked her finger on two brooches.
I duly warned the cashiers, washed my hands, wiped down everything I knew her to have touched with alcohol swabs (very few porous surfaces, thankfully, and those were discardable), and there's no chance there was contact with anything but my healthy shin during the whole transaction, but with the time she took in the jewelry section, I can't imagine I covered everything she touched in the store. The cashiers brought out the hand sanitizer – I don't believe that stuff actually works on viruses, but I will obviously want confirmation on that score.
For interested parties, I'm in the Denver metro area, and the woman is about forty or fifty in face, thirty in body, with short iron-gray hair, and she was accompanied by a rather stoic, long-suffering toothless old man I judge to be her father.