“May I see your hands, please?” Good grief! Is she coming on to me? I thought.
Instead, she rubbed what looked like a small, damp orange Wet One across my palms. “Now turn around.”
I did so, my anxiety increasing. “I meant ‘turn your hands around.’” I did that too. So the backs and the palms got swabbed, but what for? We’ll get into that later.
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