Money

I woke up this morning feeling like I got hit by a truck. Splitting headache, nausea, body aches and no I wasn't out drinking last night. I can only assume (with my keen observational skills) that I have contracted some type of virus. It makes sense, I work with the public. I come into contact with many people during the day and interact with them on a one to one basis. People carry germs. Most people are not as vigilant as I am at washing their hands, covering their mouth when they cough or turning their heads when they sneeze. My store is also frequently overrun by small children that tend to be, well, leaky and sticky and like to touch things and pick things up and put them down in the wrong places. Then I have to run after them and retrieve these objects and return said objects to their rightful homes. I feel comfortable in estimating that I have inadvertently touched or otherwise come into contact with about 100 different people's germs in a good days work. (God I feel icky now, hang on while I wash my hands again.)

Anyway, it would make sense to me that because of the nature of my job I could expect to contract random viruses on a regular basis. (If you haven't read any of my other posts, please take a break to do so now as I am pretty sure that the previous sentence could be misconstrued and leave you to believe I work in the sex industry. I will wait for you to come back.)

I am not here to bitch about this though. I really don't blame all my customers for exposing me to their germs and condemning me to a few days a month of feeling like shit (I should clarify; I don't blame them for making me feel like shit physically, I do however completely blame them for making me feel like shit emotionally, mentally, spiritually, etc.)

What I blame is their money.

Money, as we all know is dirty. Just the thought of it passing through all those sets of unwashed hands, collecting germ after germ. Ick.

There are two types of money I come into contact with at work. The first is normal money. Normal money is the kind of money that normal people carry around. Usually, it is money that they get from the bank and then put into their wallet which then goes into their pocket (man) or a purse (woman) (or vice versa, I am not one to judge a man carrying a purse or a woman who chooses not too, I am neutral on the purse debate as I can see both the pros and cons of carrying one). Normal money is typically pretty flat, though it may have a few crinkles, usually it is very legible and true to its original color. Normal money may or may not still have that "money" smell. Normal money is money that I happily take from a customer in a normal manner and place into the correct slot in my cash register: transaction complete, have a nice day. Normal money makes me happy.

Then there is the other type of money. Let's call this type of money OMFG you have to be kidding me you expect me to touch that? money. This is the type of money that is usually carried by angry, loud, sweaty, profoundly overweight woman who can't put their cell phone down long enough to let me tell them how much of their money I need for the transaction then get mad at me and shoot me dirty looks, type of money. This type of money is carried in a very special place. This type of money is obviously of such value that it can not be carried in the same places that normal money likes to dwell. It must be carried in that sacred place close to their hearts (as it is obviously very dear to them.) This money is carried in their bra. In their sweaty, too small, why on earth are you even wearing a bra as your shirt is clearly 18 sizes too small and those things are half hanging out anyway, bra.

This type of money is characterized by it obscenely crumpled appearance. It may range from slightly damp to Jesus Christ I could ring this thing out and fill an entire cup. Typically one would not automatically be able to tell which denomination of bill they were handed as the excess grime and wetness has caused the entire bill to bleed and smear and look like a tattered dish rag the color of infant diarrhea. This is the type of money that I pluck from their hands with the very tips of my index finger and thumb and then try to finagle into the cash drawer with as little money to skin contact as I am humanly able. After which I will run to the restroom and wash my hands for no less than five full minutes. If, god help me, there is a line of customers and I can not immediately sanitize myself you will see the growing anxiety within me; my breathing becomes shallow, I lose the ability to make normal conversation, I may develop a slight facial tic.

All I can wonder is; is there something wrong with these women's pockets? Why in the name of everything that is beautiful can't the money be put into the pocket? No one wants to touch your nasty, sweaty boob money. NO ONE. Seriously, it's gross. And why for the love of god is it all wet? What the hell? Did you run here? Clearly you didn't because your boobs weigh a thousand pounds. If you ran, you would probably topple over. And then, your money would get crushed under the weight of your giant breasts. See? The bra or whatever it is you have barely holding your breasts together, maybe floss or string or fuck whatever, the bra is not a safe place for your money. I see your pockets. I see them! You have them. Put the money in your pocket. I did not (almost) graduate with a 4.0 G.P.A. and pay my taxes and brake for animals and elderly people and recycle to have to deal with your nasty, sweaty bra money. (Not to mention your horrible attitude but we will leave that for another post.) I don't get it. Do you think it looks attractive? Do men swoon when you pull wads of cash from your chest? Are you a stripper that forgot you aren't at work and don't have to stuff the money into your clothes so that the other girls on stage don't take it? Did I miss some type of memo about this season's fashion trend? Is the bra the new wallet?

Pockets. I just want them to use their pockets.

Anyway, I should probably go see a doctor as I am feeling worse now than I did this morning.

If my diagnosis is some new strain of virus that is transferred only by sweat, specifically cleavage sweat, expect to see my face on the news tonight. And please send me letters in jail.