Recently, I had a close call from the most unlikely of sources. I already knew one or two people who had come down with violent colds. Being someone who historically has little to no immune system to speak of, I did what any normal person would do and became a recluse, hiding out in my office, hammering away on my laptop.

I navigated well around the afflicted, acting cordial but never getting too close and slathering myself in antibacterial gel after every encounter.

Heed the clammy handshake
That is, until last week. A woman from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention came by our office to deliver information about its annual National Health and Nutrition Examination Study. I had heard about the study numerous times when it first arrived in the county but didn’t have room to mention it in Charlotte Weekly’s pages. So now all of you know: The study is – and has been – in town. If they need information from you, you’ll likely hear from them.

Anyway, I hear what she’s talking about through my office door. I grab one of my business cards and head out from my cave to the front door to greet her and share my contact information.

She says hello. She seems nice enough – friendly, sweet smile. She grabs my hand with an iron grip and pumps it a few times without releasing. It’s a good 30-second shake. Her hands are slightly clammy, but I would only think more about this later.

She walks me through the press materials: a release, background information, a handy, dandy ruler. Lovely.

She then grabs my hand again for another round of vigorous pumping. I half expected her to wring a magic quarter out of my unsuspecting palm.

Instead, without letting go of my hand she said, mid-pump, “You better wash your hands after this. I have a wicked cold.” She looked me right in the eye while saying it, her moist hand firmly gripping mine.

CDC stands for what?
This woman works for the CDC. That’s Centers for Disease CONTROL AND PREVENTION. She is the last person who should be pulling a move like that. Her title is “health representative.” Of anyone in the world she should know better. Her job is to educate people to say, “Hello! It’s so nice to meet you! You know, I’d shake your hand but I have a wicked cold right now and I don’t want to spread it. You know, CDC and all. It’s not only a smart practice but it’s part of the job!”

No, instead she shakes my hand – as well as the hands of a number of my co-workers – not once, but twice, refusing to let go and telling me about the transmission of her nasty cold WHILE STILL HOLDING MY HAND!

Isn’t this grounds for dismissal from the CDC? Does this woman really think that simply telling me to “wash up real well!” counts as sufficient control and prevention?

I don’t think I’ve ever washed my hands as long as I did after shaking that woman’s hand. I even did the full, up-to-the-elbows scrub recommended in textbook hand washing, but which no one ever performs.

I then took the germ-laden press packet and, holding it between sweater-sleeved hands, dumped its contents onto my desk. The woman’s sweaty palm prints were still visible, like grease marks, on the glossy, blue folder.

Nasty!

Aside from being grossed out for … well, I still am, I thankfully escaped anything worse than mental scarring and learned two important lessons. First, never, ever trust that those in positions of authority will actually practice what they preach. And second, for the love of the recently departed Charlton Heston, WASH YOUR HANDS!