A Wee Bit Tainted

So, the other night when I went to see a certain singer/songwriter play, I ducked off to the loo just before he started, and was pleasantly surprised to find said singer/songwriter standing beside me at the, er, troughs.

Cool, I thought. How often do you get such a special bonding moment with an international singer of not-to-be-sneezed-at acclaim? Rarely. I considered some fannish small-talk--"I really liked that album you did..", but thinking better of it, decided to enjoy the magic moment in silence.

So, said singer/songwriter finishes his work for the day, and I watch peripherally as he checks himself out in the mirror for a moment, and then...

Walks out.

Just like that. No hand-washing of any capacity. Not even a quick rinse without soap. And in an instant, my world tumbles in around me, and a dark and heavy cloud of disillusion sets in.

So out I go, to watch this filth-monger play his set, and I can't help but let the preceding events taint my enjoyment of the show. As the audience watch and cheer as his fingers noodle about the guitar frets, I just see two germ-laden weapons of mass disgustion carelessly spread their foul putrefaction hither and thither.

And then after the show, several fans go up to meet and greet said singer/songwriter, eager to get that special handshake.

But mark my words, he got no handshake from me, that hot, steamy night. No sir.