And for their perverse pleasure I was plunked into this less than pristine taxi in Vancouver. The Hygiene Hunter reduced to a social experiment! When I came to, I had the presence of mind to document the moment. Then I called home.
It looks like the taxi driver cut his seat belt out of the buckle and then connected the buckle to the latch so the warning buzzer won't go off. Clever but stupid at the same time. Maybe he could do the same to the seat belts in the back seat so his passengers don't have to touch the filthy latches.
Three verifiable things about me. One. I am an only child. The concept of sharing, therefore, is foreign to me. Two. I am a Virgo. The sign regarded as a perfectionist. Three. My mother raised me to be meticulously clean; compulsively tidy. According to my mother, "You have taken this clean thing way too far." I disagree. Apologies to my mother.
Nature or nurture? Who knows? Who cares? I have not been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Nor would I label myself a Cleanaholic. Or a Germaphobe. My world though, is definitely a unique place. One where doors open magically. Hotel mattresses are pristine. And estheticians never double dip.
I live in this world without a bubble or a honeycomb mask. About 15 years ago I got tired of catching the flu du jour and became ever more so hygienically vigilant -- perhaps obsessively so.
It looks like the taxi driver cut his seat belt out of the buckle and then connected the buckle to the latch so the warning buzzer won't go off. Clever but stupid at the same time. Maybe he could do the same to the seat belts in the back seat so his passengers don't have to touch the filthy latches.
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