The Mind of Spaz

I’m never usually creeped out. There’s many other stimuli that produce emotions in me, like hungry, not hungry, peckish, not peckish, thirsty, not thirsty and even sometimes anger.

It was lunchtime, and my boss and I decided to grab a quick hamburger at the local Harvey’s.  We were both pretty dirty, so he went into the washroom to wash his hands and came out not 10 seconds later.  “Spaz, that was fucking creepy” he said, with a look of horror.

Naturally, I had to see for myself.

Alas, it wasn’t the exorcist chick. It was something else entirely.  You see, there was some Harvey’s employee retard washing his hands.  That in itself isn’t the creepy part.  Well, he looked like a slighly larger version of that little midget from Fantasy Island, and that in itself is creepy enough. It’s just that he was washing his hands in a very peculiar way.

No, he wasn’t washing them with his butt or something.  He was washing them, but he just wouldn’t STOP washing them. He created one hell of a lather, it seemed like he was almost making LOVE to the soap in his hands. Indeed, he almost seemed to have that “I’m gonna cum” look in his face.

Gross.

All I wanted to do was wash the soil and dirt from my hands so I could eat my hamburger.  He didn’t even notice me waiting, he just kept on washing his hands. Then he dried them for 45 seconds.  Then he stared at himself in the mirror for another 45 seconds. Then he let me wash my hands but he stood RIGHT behind me and stared at himself in the mirror the whole while I was washing my hands.

Again, gross.

I left the washroom as quickly as I could and went to place my order.  The little creep didn’t emerge from the washroom for another 10 minutes, no doubt engorged in a hand washing mirror staring self gratifying orgy of creepiness.

And that’s what happens when you get government subsidized ‘tards to work at your fast food restaurant.

‘Nuff said.

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