I’m a type-A germaphobe. Opened the door and grabbed the handle? Straight to the sink. Tapped my compass card, or really, anything in my wallet? Sanitize me now. I wipe my phone and laptop keyboard with isopropyl alcohol after being out with them all day — when I’m home, I’m clean.
It’s hard enough dealing with my own grossness, but the second I’m handed back a device and my skin touches the greased, sticky fingerprints on the glass, I bluescreen. My whole face feels like it’s been drenched in cooking oil. My hand burns, or at least, it may as well, and suddenly no surface is safe.
I grew up around lots of kids, and as the oldest, I was inevitably the target of every single possible rendition of “Can I play on your phone?” known to man. I get it, I was a kid once, too, surrounded by adults with gadgets that looked cooler than mine.
But seriously, if I can see and feel your fingerprints on my phone screen after you use it, it’s not gonna happen.
