oh god i should be writing my poetry paper what am i doing

A bit of backstory:
There is a customer who comes in every day with thirty books. He buys books nearly every day, too, though he never goes over his credit amount. He is very old and has some sort of skin condition. He is the reason Kathy bought hand sanitizer. He is also completely oblivious to any cold he might have, allowing his nose to drip more or less as it desires.

We join our tale, already in progress...

There I stood, horrified, my stomach churning before it really needed to, yet transfixed by the drop wavering precariously from the end of his nose. I wanted to hold a Kleenex out, but didn't want him to move too quickly and risk the drop flinging off toward me. It was like a sports movie or an action movie where something is on the very edge of something, ready to fall one way or the other, and everyone is staring at it, willing it to fall the way they want it to.
I just wanted a tissue or his hand or a sleeve to intervene. I wanted a miracle.

But it fell, slowly, dream-like, to the counter. I drew upon every reserve of self-control so as not to visibly shudder. After he had left --still oblivious!-- I wiped it up with a big paper towel and slathered my hands with santizer before running (like Steve Carrell in Little Miss Sunshine) to the bathroom to wash with the hottest water in the whole world.

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