I have to admit that I am a germaphobe. I am constantly cleaning the surfaces and floors in my home. I wash my hands so often that they seem to always be dry even though I use tons of hand cream to keep my skin from cracking. I wash dishes and clothes all day long. I check the condition of restaurants before I feel comfortable eating in them. In many ways I’m turning into my mother who always carried packages of tableware in her purse in case the condition of knives and forks and spoons in an eatery was sub par. 

Nothing turns me off more than unsanitary public spaces like bathrooms that reek from lack of improper cleaning. I love the Buccee’s chain of pit stops along major highways because I can always count on finding a pristine ladies room there. In fact, those roadside oases seem to have workers on duty twenty four seven to make sure that no toilets are left unflushed or spoiled with trash on the floor or empty soap dispensers. 

My family jokes that I grab up dirty dishes so quickly that they sometimes don’t have time to finish whatever was on a plate or inside a glass. I can’t stand the thought of crust forming on the bottom of cup or foul smells emanating from my sink. I use more soap and cleaning products than a building filled with hundreds of people even though there are only three occupants of my home. 

I remember a fellow teacher once warning me to watch what my fellow female teachers did in the bathroom before eagerly gobbling down goodies that they brought from home. I was intrigued and a bit confused about her remark until I began to notice several ladies exiting the rest facilities without stopping to wash their hands. Before long I was carefully picking and choosing what I ate at those festivities when everyone brought a potluck dish. I began to better understand and appreciate the teacher who wiped down the table in the teachers’ lounge with bleach before she would sit down to enjoy her lunch each day. 

I have to watch my father-in-law who is old and shaky and has never had to take care of kitchen duties in his life. I have caught him filling the well of our Keurig with his hand inside as the water goes up to the rim. I have learned to keep the water level high at all times so he no longer has to do such a thing. The image of his hand tainting the water keeps me on my toes. It’s an obsession that I can’t seem to overcome. 

My favorite people in doctors’ offices and hospitals are the members of the cleaning crew. I like the clean smell of disinfectant filling the air. I am impressed when I see a worker checking the garbage cans and almost instantly mopping up spills. If I see evidence of neglect I don’t want to be there. I find another doctor immediately just as I did years ago when I noticed debris on the floor as I scanned his waiting room with revulsion. On a recent visit to a very busy hospital emergency room I received fabulous care but I was turned off by the overflowing trash cans and spills of urine and blood on the floors. I wondered why they did not have a cleaning staff working behind them to keep the place pristine in spite of the overflow of patients needing to be seen as quickly as possible.

I’ve walked out of restaurants immediately after entering if the tables have been left with dirty dishes and the floors are littered with crumbs. Nothing turns me off more than seeing an insect skitter by my table. I will not eat in such a place no matter how good the food is supposed to be. I literally begin to dry heave at the very thought of ingesting anything from a place that does not value cleanliness enough to keep things looking fresh and sanitary. 

I’ve been to hole in the wall places that were impeccable and to big name restaurants that failed my white glove test. If the owners do not care enough to keep things tidy in the public area I don’t even what to imagine how nasty the kitchen might be. It does not take much to keep a place looking ship shape but somehow my standards are all too often left disappointed.

Years ago my mother and I often enjoyed dinner at a Panera Bread restaurant where a disabled man toiled constantly to keep even the tiniest crumb from marring the pristine feel of the place. He kept the trash bin from overflowing and wiped down tables with abandon. He kept a broom nearby to sweep up spills and scurried in and out of the restrooms making certain that they were clean and pleasant. We watched him taking his work seriously to the point of assuring us that we were not going to encounter any germs. We often gave him extravagant tips and bragged about his work ethic to the manager. We knew that we could rely on a hyper clean environment whenever he was there. 

I worked for many years in the Pasadena Independent School district. Even the oldest buildings in the system were beautifully maintained by a fleet of janitors and handymen. They arrived early each morning and stayed late making sure that every inch of their territory was ready for even the most demanding inspection. It felt good to be in such a well run and well oiled place. I appreciated their efforts that made my days more pleasurable. 

I have worked in other schools where so little care was taken that there were always broken systems and disgusting smells. Even fairly new buildings were already falling into a state of disorder and disrepair. I often got sick in such places and even had horrific migraine headaches from the mold that seemed to be literally growing on the walls. 

I’m not exactly a Howard Hughes with phobias that make it difficult for me to trust anyone other than myself with preparing the food that I eat, but I am perhaps a bit more demanding than most. I have not yet copied my mother’s habit of bringing her own utensils and hand wipes to a restaurant but I am very careful about where I will agree to eat. I seem to drive the two men in my house a bit crazy with my insistence on maintaining a ship shape home. I suppose its in my genes. I’m also totally reluctant to indulge in foods prepared by people that I do not know. I eschew buffets even when they have sneeze guards. Cleanliness is the red line that I demand. If it is not there then I am gone.