I found this gem, while on an internet walkabout inspired by a wonderful blurb about Thomas Jefferson, by Clay Jenkinson, in one of Ken Burns’ national parks documentaries.
“I’ve seen enough CSI television to know that my hotel room, no matter how tidy it looks, is actually a fetid swamp of bacteria, hair strands, the residue of gross bodily fluids, and toenails that pinged off the clipper like meteorites. If there were a disposable full-body sheath I’d wear it in every hotel room, like a quarantined astronaut. As it is, I sometimes wipe down the remote with a washcloth on the principle that that’s the one thing everyone touches. At least three times I’ve only succeeded in shorting them out.
No five second rule for me.”
I could not agree with Clay anymore. Folks who know me well know I often bring my own clean flat sheet to a hotel so as to create a cocoon between the sheets. No skin can touch a surface not most-recently washed by yours truly. If I don’t have my own pillow I sometimes wear a hoodie and pull it tight around my face. I always wear socks. And I never wear shorts. You get the picture…