I work as a barista at the Starbucks down the street. I usually worked the morning shifts just because it was the beginning of the day, which brought more customers and meant more tips, if any.
One morning when I was walking toward the Starbucks a couple blocks from my apartment, I noticed a man sitting on the sidewalk in front of the door. At first I assumed that it was just someone in desperate need for a coffee, but as I got closer, the dirty, tattered clothing gave it away that he was, in fact, a homeless person.
We got a lot of them, being close to the city and all, and they would always loiter in front of the shop since they had nowhere else to go, especially in the morning. So, we simply just shoo them away from the shop.
As I prepared to approach him and tell him to leave “or else I’ll call the cops” I noticed that this man was rubbing the bottom of his forearms against the concrete. I didn’t really think anything of it at first, but when he noticed me, he gasped and grabbed for the door handles and pulled himself up. It was dark, and his movements were quick, but I caught a quick glimpse of his face. It seemed deformed, his facial features swollen and lumpy. Scared, he quickly scurried away before I could even say one word to him. I walked up to the door and looked down at the spot where he was rubbing his forearms.
The concrete was stained a dark red. Blood. Not much, but it was enough to suddenly concern me about the well being of this guy, but when I looked, he was nowhere in sight. I figured I’d wash it off with some hot water before opening the shop, so I quickly brushed it off, chocking his weird behavior as a result of some kind of drug.
As I unlocked the door, I grabbed the handle and yanked the door open, only to immediately pull my hand away. Some kind of wet substance covered the handle, its consistency similar to some type of cooking spray. I’m not really much of a germaphobe, but you all have to agree with me that wet door handles are fucking gross, especially if they’re bathroom door handles, or, in my case, door handles that had just been used by a cracked out, crazy homeless person. I quickly wiped my hand on my pants and went inside, and washed my hands with hot water and lathered them in soap a little longer than I usually do.
After getting as much of the blood off of the sidewalk as possible, and sanitizing the door handle of the hobo grease, I opened the shop and prepared for the morning rush.
That night was when my Hell started.
After work, I was sitting at my computer searching for jobs, though more pointless things like Facebook and other sites were mostly distracting me. While typing at my computer, I looked down at my arms and noticed some light, red dots on my skin, similar to mosquito bites. They weren’t big, or a deep red, just tiny spots, no bigger than the head of a pencil eraser. No itching or burning, they were just there. I hadn’t been outside at all that day, so it couldn’t have been mosquito bites, and I didn’t eat anything that could’ve caused an allergic reaction of some kind. My next thought was maybe fleas or bed bugs, but neither my neighbors nor I owned any animals, and our apartment complex hadn’t had any issues with bed bugs as far as I knew. After examining them for a bit, I ignored them. Whatever it was that was causing it would fix itself.
The next morning, I woke up and walked into the bathroom. When I looked in the mirror, I was taken aback when I noticed more of the red spots speckled all over my body. Not only were my arms covered in them, but so was my chest, stomach, back and shoulders, and even my legs and feet. My neck was clustered with them, but thankfully my face was spared as only a couple marked my forehead, cheeks, and nose.
I’ll admit, this did freak me out quite a bit, more so from how unexpected it was waking up to a sight like that, but when I noticed that these spots still didn’t itch, burn, or bother me in the slightest, I decided to not worry about them, got dressed, and headed to work. Worrying about them would only make it worse, right?
