Does it ever seem like we’re constantly inundated with completely useless information? Sure seems like it to me. Then again, you never know when that seemingly useless bit of knowledge will suddenly have merit. Allow me to explain.

I used to work for a big accounting firm in Atlanta. I went there after obtaining my Masters from the University of Florida. A guy I worked with up there, who also attended UF with me, had a very annoying habit. He thought God had presented him with a mission on this Earth, and he felt obligated to fulfill that mission.

What was it, you ask? Feed the hungry? Wipe out homelessness? Abolish poverty? Bring an end to war? No…it was none of those things. He had, instead, taken it upon himself to alert everyone to who the non-hand washers were in the office. That’s correct. If he happened to witness another employee use the bathroom facilities and exit without washing his hands, he would tell everyone he knew. I can’t tell you how many times his head would randomly pop around the corner of my cubicle and casually announce, “So-and-so is a non-washer.”

It drove me absolutely insane. I would repeatedly ask him to stop telling me. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to know. It had no effect on me. I didn’t walk around the office shaking hands with fellow employees, so the information was absolutely useless…or so I thought.

A few months later, my friend and I were asked to do some recruiting back at the University of Florida. We flew down to Gainesville, talked to a bunch of prospective employees and headed back to the airport to return to Atlanta a few days later. While we were at said airport, I saw a rock star. Maybe a Rhythm and Blues star. Maybe a rock semi-star. I’m not sure exactly how to describe him, but I won’t name him here. I don’t need the lawsuit.

Anyway, I pointed him out to my friend, who did not believe me. We were across the building from this musician and my friend wanted a closer look. Of course, the guy ducks into the bathroom, and my friend casually follows him. He returns a few minutes later, apologizes and tells me I was correct. It was who I said it was, verified by the fact he had his name embroidered on the side of his carry-on bag. My friend then proclaims, “By the way, he’s a non-washer.”

I just shook my head and turned away. More information I didn’t need. Thanks.

Fifteen minutes later, he and I are called to board our little Canadair regional jet bound for Atlanta. We make our way to the plane, which is accessed by actually walking onto the tarmac and climbing a set of rickety stairs. Don’t believe me? Take a trip to Gainesville sometime. Anyway, I board the plane, make my way to the rear , where my assigned seat is waiting, look up and see the musician sitting in the seat next to the one I’ll be occupying. Why is this guy not in first class? Oh yeah, it’s a freakin’ puddle jumper and there is no first class.

I take my seat, say hello and bury my nose in a book. I don’t really know what to say to a rock semi-star, and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, so I assume a course of action that will allow me to ignore him. As I’m sitting there, trying to ignore him, he’s jostling all around and starts making some sort of loud plastic clanking noise. I have to look. I turn my head to him, and he’s shaking mints out into his bare hand. He looks at me, extends the hand with the mints in it and says, “You want a mint?”

I think you see where this is going. Had my friend not told me this guy was a non-washer, I might have accepted the mint. You know, to have a great story or something. Hey, guess who gave me a mint! Alas, my friend’s bizarre predilection for watching people in the bathroom and ratting them out had just given me a better story and saved me from one tiny, nasty, germ-laden mint.

So, moral of the story? Not sure. I guess maybe don’t ignore all those little bits of information you come across. You never know when you might need them.