Odd O'blography

Faecal Matters

An item about fecal matter on NYC sidewalks popped up in the newsfeed this week. The description of what New Yorkers are stepping in reminded me of a friend and coworker who preferred to go to the office barefoot.

I met Gerry McDougal in 1995 when I transferred into customer service. That's when I began writing maintenance manuals for commercial jet aircraft and Gerry was my illustrator. He was about 10 years younger, but we got along well. Gerry was an easy-going guy, hip, but without the smugness of today's hipster. I'd describe him as a latter-day hippie, displaced in time but still very much in tune with 60's counterculture.

Gerry sported a goatee and a long fringe of hair hanging down from a well-established bald spot. He dressed the part too, in vintage clothing that reminded me of the older kids from when I was in junior high. His strangest, and perhaps most authentic, hippie trait was that he seldom wore shoes. Gerry would usually come to work barefoot, even in icy weather. Of course, shoes were required in our corporate culture, so Gerry kept a pair of sandals under his desk for those occasions when management got on his case.

At first, I didn't give it much thought. Growing up in a rural area, I'd known others who routinely went unshod. They developed tough calluses resistant to stones and thistles. Certainly, an office environment is far friendlier to the bare foot. But one day I had an epiphany in the restroom. Several dozen men shared a pair of urinals, and by the end of the day, the overspray left a noticeable residue. I stepped back after finishing my business and felt the unmistakable adhesion of a sticky floor. Suddenly, I realized that Gerry had to share that same sticky spot, sans shoes, and I felt a bit nauseous.

A somewhat similar situation arose with the hand towels. The restroom was originally equipped with a couple of 'endless roller' cloth towels that would get rather damp by the end of the workday. There were many complaints about having to dry one's hands with a wet towel, and management finally put in paper towel dispensers instead. A coworker expressed relief that he no longer had to share an unsanitary towel.

I replied, "I'd rather share a towel with a man who washes his hands than share a doorknob with one who doesn't."

His face reminded me of how I'd felt about bare feet on the sticky floor.