A man came to my cash. I rang in his groceries and then I asked him how he would like to pay. He pulled out a twenty dollar bill, but instead of just handing it to me, he shoved it in his gob as he rummaged through his wallet looking for his Airmiles.
“Sir, no! Please don’t put the money in your mouth!” I implored. “If you knew how many germs are on that you wouldn’t do it. That’s how you can get the flu.”
I didn’t really care if he got the flu or not, I just needed to say something to let him know I wasn’t happy about his awful decision.
Disgust boroughed deep into my brain like a gnat. I didn’t want to touch that plagued spittle money. I hoped it would ignite and disintegrate. Damn, I need some super powers.
The customer behind him chimed in, “yeah man, that’s kind of gross.”
He takes the bill out of his drooly mouth and hands it to me.
I wanted to gag. I got the heebie-geebies as I tried to handle the bill from the non-wet area. My lips curled up on the sides with disgust as I shoved the twenty dollars into the till. “Thanks.” (Which really means, fuck you).
I wanted to throw bleach inside the cash register.
Later on, one of the staff members who works in the Deli approached the cash to pay for some chicken wings. She pulled some bills out of her bra.
“Ew, I don’t want your sweaty boob money,” I sneered. “Are you kidding me? That’s nasty.”
She laughed. “Well, I don’t have a wallet I have nowhere else to put it.”
My lip formed a point at one side. I carefully pinched the money only using my fingertips and I dropped it into the proper cash slot.
Jesus, what’s next? Stinky armpit money? Hairy balls money? Snatch change?
And folks wonder why I wear gloves at work.