The Freaks we call coworkers

We've all got 'em, jobs and the psychos that work them alongside us. There's one in particular, always, in everyone's life, so talking about them is a bit repetitive. Well, I think I've found one worth sharing. Let's call him Geo, since he thinks the world revolves around him. He is 45 years old, an a former head cook of Italian cuisine, married. His ideas themselves are not the central idiosyncracy worth noting; we all have a loony tune playing upstairs. He, above just about everyone I've met at this sprawling bureaucracy, has the unique combination of fanatical concepts, gullibility, and a passion for embracing both without awareness. Just today, he told me of his dog. I've heard from others that he insists his dog has never had fleas. That is quite the audacious claim, one I viewed skeptically. Well, he upped the ante today. As background, I should explain that he has a compulsive revulsion toward microorganisms. When he sits in the common rooms, he often sits on a newspaper. He told me that before uses a restroom, he usually touches the various knobs and handles with a paper towel, because, "when you touch the door of a restroom, you are touching a hundred dicks." (Oh, yeah, did I mention the homophobia?) Back to the dog. His dog is allowed both in and outside, and is allowed on the bed, ". . . where I sleep!", as he put it. To make sure the dog is clean, he routinely shaves the area around the anus and, as if that is not enough, puts on rubber gloves and wipes his dog's ass with some kind of disinfectant. I told him that he is some sort of freak, though I'm not quite sure which one. We'll learn more about Geo another day.