SARS: Wash Your Hands, Dammit!

On my way to Sha Tin to meet a fellow for coffee, I stopped to run a few errands.

Approaching the mall, I came up behind a guy at a set of glass doors that led into the mall.

The man saw people on the other side of the glass coming toward the doors. He stopped dead in his tracks and waited for them to open the doors so he could proceed. He was afraid to touch the handles.

I nearly ran him down like a rabbit.

The people on the other side saw him and slowed down, waiting for him to open the door. After a few seconds of stalemate, I lost my patience, stepped around him and barged through the doors. They hadn't the brain capacity to realise there's more than one way to open a door that swings in both directions.

Don't want to touch the handle? Fine. Try a shoulder, elbow or foot. Hell, there's even the tried-and-true butt-first method.

Between the time I left my flat to the time I sat down for coffee, I handled an ATM machine, three doors, bank notes, eyewear at an optical shop and the door of a public restroom. Knowing I'd be handling a drink, I washed my hands before I sat down.

After my meeting, I shook hands with the fellow, handled another two doors and touched three lift buttons before I got home. Again, I washed my hands before I did anything else.

It's so basic.

The level of panic about SARS in this city is a wee bit over the top.

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