Sounds simple enough. I’ve been doing it since I was a about two years old. At home, you reach for the terry cloth towel. When you are out in public, is when it has become more complicated.

Be honest, how many of you have found yourself waving at the paper towel dispenser…palm up, palm down, making circular motions in front of the machine? I know you have, because I have caught myself doing it, sometimes only to discover it is an air-dry scenario.

Our grocery store has an all-in-one gadget that straddles the sink. Foamy Soap, Water, Blow Dryer, in that order. You don’t need to take one step away from the sink before you are clean and dry.

Gone forever is the continuous cotton towel that wound its way out of and back into the dispenser on the wall. Didn’t you wonder if you were getting the same towel someone else had used after it cycled through the machine? That has been replaced by machines that emit ultra-violet light and seem to suck the water off your hands at the same time. This is done so quickly that it boggles the mind. I always want to put my hands in one more time to make sure they are dry, although they seem fine.

I think a lot of these gadgets emerged after Co-Vid when we started getting out in public again and needed to feel safe. We could clean our hands without touching anything that anyone else had touched. This was comforting to our “quarantine weary” minds. 

I am now a post-quarantine senior who is trying to be up to date. I like to look like I know what I am doing, I exude poise, panache’, cutting edge style. So, I am in the bathroom of a restaurant, alone. I have concluded my business and emerged. I wash my hands and I face the drying apparatus. I have waved palm up, then palm down. I am now making an arc in front of the machine when a woman walks in. After watching my gyrations for a few seconds, she says, “push the lever.” I look up at her, then glance back at the device. Sure enough, it is a late turn of the century paper towel dispenser with a lever. As I push the lever with my hand, the paper towels emerge from the bottom of the antique contraption and I feel rather foolish.

By the time I have completed my task, the helpful woman has disappeared, either into a stall or back out the door. I pat my hair, apply fresh lipstick and pull myself together. I exit the bathroom, giving the appearance of a. normal person.

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