Chapter 1 (Hand sanitizer)

Mask ✔️, Hand sanitizer ✔️, Gloves✔️, and finally Bleach?" I look around, grabbing items that were on my list checking the boxes next to them if I could find them. I was running out of sanitary products, and my OCD wasn't having any of that.

Hello, I'm Dean uhh Dean Parks, and I suffer from a cleaning disorder or a fear called Ocd or Germaphobia. Now you may be wondering what Germaphobia is. Well, it's simple. It's when a person has a constant fear of germs or anything that's polluted to their excellent health.

Usually, Germaphobia only refers to items that one may think have germs at that moment, but for me, well, doctors say I'm a particular case you see my Fear of germs revolves around Humans. Yes, humans.

I know what you may be thinking. That's ridiculous. Don't you have to touch people like your mom, dad, sister, brother, best friend? And to which I can't argue, you have to give your mom a hug which is why I need my gloves, mask, and hand sanitizer.

I look down, realizing I still haven't obtained my bleach. Strolling through the sections of the market, I finally approach the cleaning one. "Bleach, " I question, looking back and forth between the Lysol and Fabuloso. I walk a few steps down, looking for the product. "Damn it! Why this is what I needed most."

I let out a frustrated sigh playing with the tip of my mask. I walk over to my cart, looking inside. I peak at my hand sanitizer. Fabuloso would have to do until I have the time to check out another store. I scratch the back of my skull out of frustration, grumbling through my mask.

I chunked the product inside my basket, grabbing both handles and pushing my cart to the checkout. Now usually, I use self check out to try and avoid any human contact. However, as I'm looking around, I don't see any self-check-out areas. "You gotta be kidding me?" I say as I check one more time. I mean, wasn't this a Walmart?

Shouldn't they have self-checkouts?

I let out a frustrated sigh as I try to calm myself down, looking towards the cashiers. I observe some of them. There were four in total.  They look to be working pretty hard, which means they each are cover in sweat. I cringe at the thought.

Disgusting.

What makes it worst is that they would have to touch my products. It's bad enough the workers who put them on the shelf do it, but now they're going to be even dirtier. I sigh, pushing my basket up to the first register. Behind the counter stood an African-American girl who looks no older than fifteen years of age. She was chewing gum and would blow it into a bubble until it got big enough that it would pop on her sweaty face. Then she would put the gum back in her mouth and repeat the process.

"That's so disgusting!" " Not to mention the spit particles that fly out every time the gum bubble pops, " my thoughts are interrupted by her clearing her throat.

"Are you going to put your stuff on the counter or stand there?"

The young girl says to me, scrunching up her face at the indication of her annoyance. I clear my throat, uttering a sorry before taking my items out of my buggy and placing them on the counter. She began the process, and I watch as she grabs all my things, checking them out one by one.

"Why are you wearing a mask?"

By the way, you're total is $35.95."

I shake my head frantically as I tell her, "I don't like germs."

She rolls her eyes at me as I give her my compensation. I look at her name tag Siri huh, what a strange last name or first name. My gloves brush against her hands as she hands me back my change. I'm throwing these away, is what I think as I'm gathering my bags.

I could hear the girl mumble something under her breath. I assumed the word was 'freak.' Could have been 'weirdo.' but all in honesty, I didn't care too much.

I never understood why people judge people. I know I probably looked like a weirdo or a criminal, in gloves and mask, but trust me, I'm not.

However, society is a judgemental place and how you look outside is how you appeal to the ones on the outside. I unlock my automobile as I open the door to pop my trunk. I then walk behind the car, placing the bags inside the open area.

However, before I close the box, I reach inside one of the bags to get one of the hand sanitizers. I close my trunk, walking over to the open door, and getting in. Pulling off my mask, I take a deep breath as I remove my tainted gloves, putting them off to the side as I grab my bottle of hand sanitizer, squeezing a little onto my hand. Before you say anything, I know I didn't touch anything with my bare hands, but I always want to feel my hands are clean.

My hands being clean or anything on my body keeps me from having a panic attack. I sigh as I start my car looking at the compartment for my phone and another pair of gloves. I pull out some black rubber ones putting them on, letting them snap as the rubber hits my risk. I reach over, closing my compartment. Grabbing my phone with my other hand and as I turn it on, I notice I had three miss calls from 'That one dude." I also had a text message.

That one Dude🗣:

Where are you? The boss is driving me loons.

Me:

I'm on my way. I had to stop at the store and tell Grandpa to calm down, please 🙏 🤦‍♂️

I place my phone down, pressing the start button after hearing my engine crank up; I take off. I turn up the radio as Track star by Lil Mooski plays.

I smile as I pull my mask up, stopping at the red light. I even start singing some of the lyrics. I loved his voice. It was friendly black people tend to have very soulful voices when singing, and no, I'm not racial stereotyping. It's not that I would consider that a racial stereotype if African Americans themselves agree. I pull off from the red light singing my favorite part.

"Love don't cost a thing it's a shame how much I pay for it love don't cost a thing a shame how much I gave for it! Heartbroken into pieces, put tape on it. Fragile made out of glass, " I stop letting Mooski continue. My horrible voice would ruin the whole song. I pull into the workplace as the song finally ceases. I quit my car.

Now you are probably wondering what or who I work as or for? Well, that's a simple question, and the answer is I'm an artist. Or an animator, I animate people cartoons and all that, and I work at Natsu studio.

I grab my belongings for work and walk towards the building; however, before reaching the knob, the door slams open.

" Well, it's about fucking time, Dude!"