Just like the Commode Story in Reservoir Dogs, the hand dryer rages and obliterates all other sounds in the room. Unlike that scene I’ve not got a bag of drugs under my arm and there aren’t four rather camp looking, moustachioed American cops with accompanying police dog loitering by the sinks. I think this is mainly because they’d stand out quite a bit given that I’m in the office, which isn’t based in, or even near, America.
That and I don’t go many places where there are camp, moustachioed men dressed up as cops. Honest.
As I slowly drag my hands through the hot air, I marvel at the way my skin ripples and moves as the thin blast of air shrieks across my hands. Soon they are bone dry despite which I still move them back and forth a few times more just to enjoy the sensation.
With my hands dry I step back, the hand dryer whirls to a stop and I turn back to the sinks to wash my hands. I make sure they are completely wet before returning to the hand dryer once more. I slide my hands into the opening and gently move them up and down.
I should, perhaps, rephrase that last sentence.
Once again my skin is pushed to and fro, and once again I take just a little bit too long to dry them. Then suddenly I remember a past conversation and giggle. I turn and check behind me but there is no-one there, I pause and then decided against it.
I fear I may be addicted to drying my hands. Let me explain.
We’ve just had some shiny new Dyson Airblades installed, you see, and they are bloody awesome. Slowly moving your hands through the gap, watching the thin jets of air ripple your skin and then.. suddenly, you realise they are dry. Properly dry, not the way normal hand dryers leave your hands, when you still feel slightly damp. It’s quite an unusual experience to be honest, definitely something new.
Of course, being in an office full of, mostly, men, the installation of a new gadget (and make no mistake, this is very much an ‘engineering gadget’) starts various conversations. So, for the avoidance of doubt, I can confirm that I have not tried to stick any other part of my body into said machine.
So, if you are in Glasgow, near Central Station, and want to experience the hand drying power (HANDS! perverts…) of the Dyson Airblade, then spend 20p and nip into the toilets there.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, a rather camp American cop wants to buy me a coffee…