This event didn’t technically happen on the DC Metro, but let’s be real—this city is full of public transit weirdos, and it deserves a place in the Metro Confessions Hall of Fame.

So, picture this: It’s a normal day in DC. I’m heading to Pentagon City Mall for my ritualistic self-care appointment—aka getting my nails done. Because even in a city where government shutdowns, random protests, and train derailments are routine, one must maintain some level of personal dignity.

I had a few minutes to spare, so I decided to make a quick detour to the bathroom before immersing myself in the holy act of choosing between taupe or nude polish. This, in hindsight, was a life-changing mistake.

👀 The Incident: A Bathroom Horror Story

Now, I’m at the sink, minding my business, washing my hands like a responsible citizen, when suddenly—

🚨 A man emerges from the stall.
Not just any man. No. This was a man who had been making the kind of noises that suggest his soul was actively fighting to leave his body.
A man who had been in there long enough to consider it a short-term lease.
A man who, for some ungodly reason, made direct eye contact with me as he exited the stall, like we shared some sort of unspoken bond.
(Sir, we are NOT bonded. You are in the aftermath of battle, and I am simply a witness.)

And then, I see it. The crime. The violation. The unforgivable sin.

🚨 He wiped his hands… ON HIS PANTS. 🚨
No water.
No soap.
No moment of self-reflection.
Just straight from the battlefield to his trousers.
And then? He walked out. Like that. Just walked out.
Like some feral beast who had never heard of pandemics, bacteria, or—oh, I don’t know—BASIC HUMAN DECENCY.

At this point, my soul left my body.
There I was, standing at the sink, soap dripping off my fingers, staring at the door like I had just witnessed a crime against humanity.
It wasn’t just disgusting—it was PERSONAL.
How DARE he bring his unwashed hands into MY general vicinity?
I had survived a global pandemic just for THIS man to roam freely amongst the innocent public with his post-battle hands?
Absolutely not.

👀 The Food Court Standoff: My Moment of Vengeance

I leave the bathroom, still in a state of disgusted disbelief, and that’s when I see him again.

He’s at the Panda Express.

Yes, the very same unwashed menace, standing in line with a group of people who—tragically—did not yet know that they were associating with a biohazard.
Now, I could have walked away. I could have let karma handle it.
But I am not built for that kind of restraint.

Because just as I’m about to move on with my life, he pulls an even bolder stunt.
He dashes forward to pick up a food tray.
No hesitation. No guilt. The same hands. The same damn hands that had just…

😡 This was my villain origin story. 😡

This man, who I am now convinced is a danger to public health, had the audacity to handle communal dining equipment like he wasn’t an absolute monster.
Oh, hell no.

That’s when I spotted my target: one of the girls in his group.
She looked like a rational, reasonable person—someone who deserved to know that Patient Zero over here was out here living like hygiene was a myth.
So, with all the casual confidence of a well-paid lobbyist, I walked up to her and dropped the truth bomb.

Me (in my calmest, most casual voice): “Hey, just so you know, the guy who just grabbed that tray? Yeah, he didn’t wash his hands after he pooped. Just saying.”
And then? I walked away.
🎤 Mic drop. 🎤
The reaction? Immediate and priceless.
The horror. The disgust. The betrayal.

One by one, the girls in his group turned toward him like he had just confessed to being an undercover rat in the mafia.
Suddenly, his entire body language changed.
You ever see a man’s soul leave his body in real-time?
I have. It happened at Panda Express.

⏳ The Aftermath: A Lesson in Social Consequences

Now, I’m feeling pretty satisfied with my contribution to public safety, so I go off to my nail appointment.

Two hours later, freshly polished and feeling accomplished, I head toward the Metro station to continue my day.

And that’s when I see him again.
👀 He’s sitting alone. On the opposite Metro platform.
🚶‍♂️ No friends. No Panda Express. No human contact.
🚨 Persona non grata. 🚨

He looked like he had been abandoned at sea, like his friends had sent him to exile for his crimes.
Which, honestly? Fair.
Because if you can’t be trusted to wash your hands, you can’t be trusted AT ALL.

🚇 Final Thoughts: A Warning to the Unwashed Masses
Look, I’m not saying I’m DC’s official Hygiene Vigilante.

But what I am saying is:
👉 If you commit hygiene crimes in my presence, I WILL report you to the public.
👉 If you walk out of a bathroom stall with no soap in your future, I WILL make sure someone knows.
👉 If you think you can raw-dog life like we didn’t just live through a pandemic, I WILL ruin your social standing.

Because if we, as a society, cannot agree on the bare minimum of washing our hands after the bathroom, THEN WHAT DO WE HAVE LEFT?

And to the man who suffered the wrath of the Panda Express girls that day—
I hope you learned your lesson.

🚇 Stay safe out there, Metro riders. And for the love of all things good—WASH YOUR DAMN HANDS. 🚿