My Kryptonite

I remember when I was a kid, I often had a few dollars in my shoe. I'm not sure why... I'm going to assume I didn't have pockets with whatever tomboy attire I was wearing at that age. The point is, I'm sure we've all been there with our sweaty foot money.

Flash foward to adulthood (you know- with pockets, wallets, purses, the whole shebang). A man paid for his hotel stay with cash this morning, I'm talking hundreds of dollars of the green stuff. I'm not sure where he pulled the money out of because I'm too short to see that far over the desk. I'm already uncomfortable enough handling that amount of mulah but the not-so-pleasant surprise was the cash itself... wet. Well, it wasn't raining outside... so why is your money soggy? I'm not sure I want to know.

Have you ever smelled money? It's disgusting. The higher the bill, the worse. So not only am I holding wet paper of an unknown origin but they are big bills. I'm sure they include traces of cocaine, feces (here I go again), etc. What is the next plan of action? Naturally, for someone this obsessive, find a sink! Oh but wait, the nearest sink is on the other side of the building... it's obviously ridiculous to have any type of employee bathroom. I'm sure the next guest could read my panicked expression as I tried to think if I had touched my face or hair. I eventually was able to wash the hell out of my hands... and to be safe, I took a shower.

So, there you have it folks. My kryptonite... wet cash.