And no, I didn't eat them. My hand was dirty.

I used to work with these kids, and we'd usually take our lunch outside, or in a gym. There was always at least one kid who would just dump his lunch out on the ground or floor like it was a plate. Say, if it was a Lunchables, he would remove the stack of meat, the stack of cheese, and the crackers, and just put them on the ground where he was sitting. If he had a bag of chips, he'd pour them out. I tried the first couple times to get him to put his paper bag under his meal, but he didn't see the point. Kids, as those of us without kids know, are gross.

So, a couple days ago, I'm dropping off the recycling. The bulk of it was plastic, including one not-quite empty jug of milk, which had leaked into the bag. I mentally warned myself over and over that it was there, to no avail. I ended up dunking my hand and the end of my sleeve in the car trunk-temperature milk. Yeah, I know.

I had a bottle of hand sanitizer in my car. I doused my hand in it and shook it off in the parking lot, then aired my hand out the window as I drove to the comic store (where no one was rude enough to mention that I smelled like a White Russian hangover.).

On the way back, I was cutting through an alley, and I was so distracted by my disgusting, hot-dairy hand, that I almost stepped in it: there, on the street, with no one else around, was a stack of pancakes. With syrup on top. They didn't look like they had fallen off of a plate. They were stacked, and it looked like the syrup had just been drizzled on. They weren't even soggy yet.

Life is so fucking weird.

You know what you can throw farther than you think?

A folding chair. Especially if you get a good run at it.