My french fries taste funny. I wonder why for a split second and then look down to see that my fingers are almost black with dirt or grime or grease. I don't wear gloves as often as I should on the rig so my hands almost always look like this from holding onto handrails or messing with dirty cables. I don't have time to wash them enough to make a difference -- the soap isn't great on this rig and it takes awhile to scrub skin clean. One time I tried in vain to use the antibacterial gel by the trays, but all it managed to do was smear around the dirt, because really, where's it going to go? So I don't even bother cleaning my hands for meals. I guess the french fries taste fine. After this, I will probably find the thought of washing perfectly clean-looking hands before eating as funny.
01:20
Walking downstairs from the galley to the change room I see an old black man I don't recognize in briefs and a shirt just long enough so that I cannot actually verify that he's wearing any underwear at all. Maybe he just started his hitch and didn't realize there was a lady on board. Normally I would pretend I don't see him, but we have to walk by each other in a narrow corridor.
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