Dirty Money

Money is so dirty. I mean this quite literally, because I handle money all day, and every night I come home feeling grungy. Think of all the people who touch it all the time: people who don't wash their hands, people who work minimum-wage construction jobs and come home exhausted and covered with mud, fingering their freshly-won bills, people who, you know, snort cocaine....

So money's pretty dirty. Especially when an old, fat man with a pockmarked face and arms covered in open sores comes in to my place of business, scratches at his arm, then pulls out a $10 to pay for his purchases, and expects me to actually touch the thing. This was right after one of our assistant managers got a fever blister IN HER EYE, most likely from not carefully washing her hands before she put in her contacts. I do not want a fever blister in my eye. I do not want to catch whatever leprous cousin that gross old man had. At that moment I hated my job and my life and the entire world populated by people who were so base as to have open sores and then to go merrily about, spreading them to people. At that moment I felt a little bit of what Agent Smith must have felt.

I don't think a college degree is worth this.