My life is like a slapstick comedy with none of the mirth and a shitload of judgment. I can't open many doorknobs because of how soaked my hands are. In college, I took to carrying around one of these rubber jar openers ...
And what better way to impress the sorority girls?
... so I could open the door to my dorm room. I have to wear black clothes; I can't wear whites or lights unless I want everyone to see my sweat stains. And forget about ever taking off my socks, or even sometimes my shoes, because I'd leave wet footprints everywhere and wind up slipping in my own sweat. I've pissed off dozens of people throughout my entire life because I've either refused to shake hands or visibly wiped my hand first. I usually try to play this off as a Monk-ish thing ("Sorry, I'm a little afraid of germs"), but then people judge me on that. It's even worse with anything having to do with writing. I handed in more than a few college exams that were so wet they were starting to roll up. Scantrons were a nightmare; my sweat smudged them so badly that I regularly took tests two or three times.
Which goes over great with your average angry, underpaid professor.