Toast Toucher

The Maple Leaf lounge at Pearson has a communal toast maker. Baskets of different breads tempt the bleary eyed traveller. Sheena took advantage of the free breakfast this week when she had some time to kill before an early morning hop. I've become increasingly wary about public food lately, and this incident didn't help.

Grabbed the prominently placed black plastic tongs and scooped up to pieces of plain white bread. Dropped them on the top of the conveyor belt. Knew I had a few minutes to kill, so took 5 steps to the side to get coffee going while I waited for the toasting conveyor belt to bring me my food.

When I got back to the toast-making device, there was an older man standing there, using his fingers to poke his bread into the contraption. I am not certain, but I think he poked bread other than his own. Recall irritably wondering why he was using his fingers on a public food preparation machine when the frickin tongs were right there.

And then out of the corner of her eye, Sheena caught a flash of jewelery on the man. It was the distinctive lapel pin of the Order of Canada. Hmm. Who was the toast toucher? Sheena looked at him and smiled sweetly. She was about 99% sure who it was, expanding to 100% after a quick google minutes later.

When the toast was appropriately browned I USED THE FRICKIN TONGS and went back to my seat, plastic knife and single pat plastic wrapped butter on the side plate.

About half way through the first piece, Sheena's unfortunately wired brain started making connections. Did he touch my toast. Did the same fingers that allegedy touched some skanky whore's ass touch my toast. Where have those fingers been. How often does he wash his hands. ewww ewwww ewww. When I regaled the story to a friend later that day, she agreed on the ewww factor not because of the skanky whore's ass angle, but because those fingers also touched all kinds of human organs and body parts. That to her was grosser. Funny how we all have our different barfometers.

After she left the room, again the synapses started misfiring. Sheena turned white and a mild sweat broke out on her brow. Was it possible? Had the same fingers that touched Dalton Camp's used up dirty old heart touched my toast?

Suddenly the whore's ass didn't matter any more.