You’ve seen these people. We all have. The people that engage in some good old fashioned public booger mining.
That’s my politically correct term for nose picking. I call it booger mining. Ingenious, huh? Conjures up visions of midgets with hardhats and lanterns, singing camp songs as they descend into the depths of a nasal cavity for another toiling day of mining. For boogers.
These people I speak of, they pick their noses in public. On the street. In a car. In a deli. In a bar.
My Dr. Seuss impersonation.
These public booger miners either a) don’t care if you see them digging out a juicy green gob of goo, or b) don’t realize anyone is watching them stick their finger in up to the first knuckle.
They think they have a personal shield around them that renders their actions invisible. Like going the speed limit in a car means no one can see them digging around for that slimy one that you can never really get a good grip on because there’s no true nucleus. It’s just a smushy gelatinous glob of mucus that squishes under your finger, then surrounds it like you’re starring in a sci-fi movie.
These people think that once they get the elusive offender out, they can flick it away or wipe it on a hidden portion of their pants (or dress) and it never happened. Like it didn’t count or something.
Like the five second rule when you drop a candy bar on the ground. If you pick it up quick enough, it never occurred. You can still eat it because you got it before the germs had a chance to know it was there and latch on.
But then again, you’ve got snot on your fingers, so why the hell are you so damned worried about floor germs?