Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Phones Are Dirty

This has been my thing for a while, but very few people I have encountered even notice this, and therefore they do nothing about it.
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The evolution of the cell phone from no screen, to all screen, has left me with increased anxiety over the disgustingness of the phone. You can take a normal person, with a normal amount of oil on their face, and after talking on it, the face of their phone will be gross and caked on with oil and body ash. More often than not, when I see someone using their phone, it has face oil on it, and the person doesn't think twice about sticking it right on their face and in their ear. Needless to say, if I am going to use someone else's phone, I wipe it thoroughly before it gets anywhere near my face or ear. I'm pretty sure I can't catch anything from my ear hole, but that is not a risk I am willing to take. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm immune to this vile side effect, but after I finish with my phone call, I wipe the phone on my shirt to remove all finger prints, face oil, and skin flakes from the phone before I put it back in my pocket.
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Cell phones aren't the only culprit of these crimes of disgust. Landlines can be pretty gross too...if not worse. Landlines can be worse because they have the length to get close to the mouth of the person talking as well as their ear. So not only do you get the oil from the ear and hair, but sometimes you get mouth stank too. Believe it or not, I have talked on a communal phone that actually smelled like the bad breath of the person who was previously talking on the phone. It made me gag. I realize this is not a flaw of the phone so much as the completely atrocious bad breath of my coworker, but seeing as it was an unavoidable situation (brushing of teeth aside) I have to blame the phone. Sorry phone.
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Anyway, since phones are a necessary part of my work life, I just keep myself aware of my surroundings and wipe the phone on my shirt if needed, even if that means the person on the other end has to wait.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Clocks

I was clocking out at work today (no salary here, folks) and since my work recently moved the time clocks of the two different companies working in the building, right next to each other, I was reminded of another pet peeve I have that stems from my OCD personality.
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If something tells time, and is in the general vicinity of something else that tells time, those two (or more) things should be synchronized!
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The clocks at work are literally six inches from each other and a whole two minutes apart. Since they just moved one of them closer to the other, and they had to unplug and reprogram it anyway, why not make it so they show the same time? Also, the Cisco phone and the computer at my desk are right next to each other, yet their times are off as well. But since the company I work for thinks I'm MR, I am not allowed to adjust my computer or phone settings to change the time...so I suffer in silence.
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My work is not the only place where this has happened. Often times, the times on microwaves and ovens are off, but they are right next to each other too. It happens all over the place, keep you eyes open for it, and you will see it over and over again.
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Now I'm not saying it has to be perfectly synchronized, within 5-10 seconds is acceptable, just not to the point where you get two completely different times depending on which direction you are facing in your kitchen, or which company you work for in the building.

Monday, September 14, 2009

My Wallet

When I was a child, my grandmother was putting money back in her wallet, and she told me that the bills should always be in value order from the front of the wallet to the back of the wallet. I didn't know any better, but this turned out to be the ONLY way to put money in a wallet.
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I don't think she meant for me to take it as far as I do, but obviously I have come to adore this method for storing money. I put my singles in the front, then fives, tens, and twenties. Now in men's wallets there is often a divider in the wallet (for whatever reason) and I like to use that to separate the twenties from the larger bills (when I have them.) Fifties and hundsvilles go behind the separator. This is obviously to make sure I don't accidentally spend one in place of a twenty. (I am way to diligent for that to ever happen, but it's better to be safe than sorry, right?)
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As if this wasn't organized enough, I have to flatten out the edges of my bills so that they are perfect rectangles, and then the order of the bills of each individual denomination is determined by the crispness of the bill. The really wrinkly ones are in the front (to be used first) and the better, crispier ones are in the back. So at any one time, I will have the worst of the singles in the front of all the singles, then the worst of the fives in front of all the fives, and so on and so forth. If this isn't organized enough for you, I make it so the colored bills (the new ones that look like play money) are always in the back of their respective denominations regardless of the crispy factor. If I have more than one of the colored bills, we revert back to the crisp factor to determine placement. Think of the colored ones as a separate denomination in and of themselves, worth a tad more than their face value.
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So to recap, bills go from least to most, wrinkliest to crispiest, least colorful to most colorful, and all of that within their denominations as well. Sounds like a lot of thinking, but it's second nature to me at this point. Thanks grandma!
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As an aside, I can't stand it when people stuff their money in their pockets or in their wallet, all folded and wrinkled up. How can you keep track of it? How do you know if it's all there? I guarantee that when you find money on the ground when you are out in public it is one of those people who dropped it. They went into their pocket for some keys or a piece of gum, and the wadded up, sweaty twenty accidentally plopped out in the process. Then, observant OCDers like myself, see it, unwrinkle it, and put it in the appropriate spot in our neatly organized wallets...twenty dollars richer.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Tipping

I've always been a generous tipper, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my tipping practices are 50% generosity, and 50% Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
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When I go out to eat, I always use credit/debit cards (cash is dirty and leaves no paper trail) so when it comes time to pay and tip, I can tip to the penny. Literally, to the penny. When the bill comes (lets say it's $23.37) I will tip so that the final amount is a round number. Something about having it an odd amount on the receipt doesn't sit well with me. So, for example, on a $23.37 bill, I will tip $6.63, so that the final amount is $30.00. I am satisfied with the nice, round number. The server is satisfied with an over 28% tip. And then, when I check the amount on my credit card statement, I can easily verify that the amount charged was correct.
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Speaking of verifying the amount, one time, and a lame, douche bag-hangout, bar, the final amount charged on my card was $1.00 more than I left as a tip. Obviously I knew this because I always tip an even amount. I disputed the claim with my credit card company (on principle, not on the amount) and $1.00 was credited to my account. If I wasn't so diligent, this shady, already overpriced, shoot-myself-in-the-face-before-I-go-back, bar would have swindled me out of my hard earned money.
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Anyway, if the bill is not an amount that is easily totaled into a round number, I will settle for something like a $32.00, or a $28.00 total. But the cents will always be .00 and whenever possible the final amount will be a denomination of 5 or 10.
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I have thought about the fact that it would be annoying to get something like 63 cents as part of a tip, but most servers get their credit card tips on their paychecks, so that is not even a factor. Not to mention I always round up, so they are getting a better tip than someone else would give them, and because of that, any complaints would fall on deaf ears.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Handles on Toilets

It seems like all my posts have to do with the bathroom, but obviously this is a huge source of OCD material, so I just can't help myself.
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You know how you can trace back some of your idiosyncrasies to a moment in your childhood? (Or is that just me?) Well anyway, this is one of mine that I can trace back to an episode of 20/20 from way back when. It was a special on germs and the spots where the most germs are found in everyday places. To the best of my recollection, the show involved swabbing multiple areas and testing them to determine what places to avoid. The only thing I remember from the episode is that toilet seats are not that germy, and the handles of toilets are one of the germiest places one encounters on a daily basis. This is for obvious reasons as people usually flush prior to washing their hands, but the information I learned on that Friday night some fifteen years ago has influenced me everyday since.
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Simply put, I just can't bring myself to touch a toilet handle to flush it. I realize I am going to wash my hands seconds later, but I also realize how nasty people can be, and I don't want any of that nasty on me for any length of time. Most often, when it comes time to flush, I will kick the handle down with my shoe, and flush it that way. This is the preferred method.
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Sometimes, though, I will just wash my hands before I flush the toilet, and then use my paper towel hand to flush after I have washed my hands. This method also works, but it comes with its own set of worries. Often times when I do this, I think people think (and I have had two different people comment on this) that I don't wash my hands at all. I can understand this thinking because the natural order of things would be to flush the toilet, then wash my hands, and then by the time the bathroom door is opened, the toilet will have finished flushing. But when I do the paper towel flush, it is not uncommon for the toilet to still be flushing when I leave the restroom, at which point people assume I am gross like them, and don't wash my hands, and then I must defend my honor.

The End.