A Little Have a Disorder

I found myself in the bathroom at work with a friend of mine recently. No funny business, just two guys who happened to be peeing at the same time. [Who am I kidding? We were blowing each other. Because we have a "bromance."] So I pee. He pees. We enjoy a chatty pee together. I'll say "enjoy." I enjoyed it. I usually don't go for social urination, but this time it worked. We clicked. What am I talking about? This is not the point of this story...

The point of the story is that after we finished our business, we went to the sinks and washed our hands. Different sinks. Take it easy. [We totally held hands. I soaped him. He soaped me. Very bromantic.] We wash, we dry, I get to the door first and open it. I hold it for him. [I better, the guy just blew me. Christ.] And that's where we get to the point of the story.

Outside of the bathroom, we have a Purell dispenser. Now, I am firmly of the belief that Purell is causing super bugs that will ultimately be responsible for the apocalpyse. But my friend does not share my belief. He squirts some Purell into his hands.

Let's be clear on this series of events. I got a bit distracted in there for a bit. He peed. He washed his hands. With soap and water. He walked 10 feet. He Purelled his hands.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Didn't you just wash your hands? What are you doing?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"You just washed your hands. Now you're hitting the Purell? Was there a dirty cloud of air you walked through?"

"Oh. Yeah." Pause. "I'm a little O.C.D."

A little O.C.D. I hear this phrase a lot. Usually by people who have recently washed their hands at a mildly appropriate time or straightened something out that had previously been crooked. And it makes me wonder if people know the meaning of words. Do you know what the "D" stands for? It means "disorder." Last time I checked, you can't be a little "have a disorder." You either have the disorder you don't. It's either diagnosable or it's not.

I do have O.C.D. I take pills to manage it. They're amazing magic pills that make me less crazy. And I manage my disorder. While my disorder is managed, my mind is able to function. While my mind was functioning recently, I came up with a little test. Ready?

Here's my test:

Have you ever turned the lights on in a room, then turned them off, then turned them back on, then off, and finally on again because you believe with all of your heart and soul that if you didn't flip the switch five times your mother would die of cancer?

No? You haven't? Oh, okay. Interesting.

Have you ever scratched the right side of your face with your left hand, then felt compelled to scratch the left side of your face with your left hand, then the left side of your face with your right hand, then the right side of your face with your right hand, and then repeated the same pattern backwards (got that?) just in case if you didn't it would mean the an omnipotent being would cause a tidal wave in India to punish your insolence?

No? You've never done that. Okay. Fascinating. One more.

Have you ever lost track of a conversation you were having with a friend because s/he said the word "screen door" which caused a synapse in your brain to fire that forced the first line of "Thunder Road" by Bruce Springsteen to play in your head, and then another synapse fired that told you to "finish the song."

And your conscious mind said, "No, I'm not going to."

And the voice in your head screamed, "SING THUNDER ROAD IN YOUR HEAD!"

And still your conscious mind was like, "No fucking way. Fuck you. I'm not doing it."

And then the voice in your head said, "But what if you don't and Satan rapes your wife because of it?"

And your conscious mind says, "That doesn't make any sense at all."

But the voice in your head insists, "Still. What if? What if Satan is going to rape your wife and she's going to give birth to the Antichrist? And Hellfire and terror reign upon the Earth for all eternity! And you could have stopped it! You could have fucking stopped it! And all you had to do was sing "Thunder Road" in your head and all would have been fine. But noooooooooo... your friend telling you that his screen door is torn is more important than the safety and well being of humankind, you selfish fuck."

And then you sang the entirety of "Thunder Road" in your head (in fast forward) and completely lost track of what your friend was telling?

No? You never did that either? Hmmm...

You're not O.C.D. You're quirky. You like clean hands. And there's nothing wrong with clean hands. You may cause a superbug. But you're not O.C.D. You're a little O.C.D. like I'm a little anorexic because I skipped lunch.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to delete and retype this three times on the offchance that a superbug will end life as we know it if I don't.