Reasons why I will never, ever use a hand dryer again
Setting: ladies toilet in local supermarket.
Main character: Me.
Props: sink, tap, hand dryer.
Mood and atmosphere: Pretty cool. Normal. Nothing untoward. No ravens perching on door frames or grey clouds scuttling ominously across the ceiling. No music played on one single out of tune violin string. No sudden dimming of lighting caused by unexpected shorting of fuse leaving ladies toilets in pitch black.
Me comes out of cubicle, washes hands. Walks towards hand dryer, humming cheerfully. Places hands underneath hand dryer.
Inner thoughts script:
Hey! That's a strong hand dryer. In fact, it's a very noisy dryer, too. They don't come noisier. Oh my. That's a really FULL-ON hand dryer. I'm even having trouble keeping my hands underneath it, it's so full-on. I feel the need to look more closely at my hands, they are being so affected by this strong drying action. OH MY GOSH! THE SKIN ON MY HANDS IS MOVING. MY HANDS ARE NO LONGER HANDS. THEY ARE SAND DUNES IN A DESERT STORM. The dryer is actually pushing my skin up and down, along and across, depending on the angle of my hands under the dryer. The dryer is repositioning my flesh. Whose stupid idea was it to put a hand dryer here with the same power as one of those Force 10 leaf-blower trucks you see in the Autumn and have to cross the road to avoid? I look like a chicken does when someone's picking up the skin to stuff sage and onion underneath it. I look DISGUSTING. This is like a HORROR MOVIE. How can I have that much skin? I thought my skin FITTED and now I see I have acres to spare to be lifted up like waves on the Pacific. Is this age? When did my skin become too big? Could the same thing happen to my whole body if I go out on a really breezy day? Could I be walking along the High Street only to find that my face is being rearranged like something out of a Picasso without me realising it until I suddenly look into a department store's darkened window and frighten myself? And ... and ... is it permanent? Will I walk out of here, my skin realigned, the backs of my hands looking like a very badly-iced Christmas cake, all peaks and troughs and bits where the icing was running out? I'm going to take my hands away from this dryer RIGHT NOW before any real damage ................ Oh, thank you, God. It's stopped. Thank you. I know how the disciples felt now when Jesus stood up in the boat on the stormy lake and yelled, 'Flesh! Be still!' or whatever it was he said. Phew.
Me leaves Ladies toilets, picking at the skin on the back of her hands and wondering, wondering.