Scene: my office.
A student comes to the door. She is red-eyed, hacking, wheezing, and having frequent recourse to a woefully inadequate and well-used Kleenex.
She: "I'm sorry I'm late. It's just that I'm really, really sick."
Me: "It looks as though you don't feel too well today. Do you have your schedule made up? Would you like some Vitamin C drops?"
She: "Here it is"--and draws out a crumpled index card that has obviously been keeping company in her bookbag with the aforementioned Kleenex.
We get through the advising session. The next student comes by.
Next student: "Hi! I think that person before was sick. I saw you take out the hand sanitizer and clean your hands. Everybody in my dorm is sick, so be careful when you collect the papers next week."
So my secret is out. I keep a hidden bottle of Purell (66.2% alcohol, or something like that) in my desk drawer. Like Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe with a bottle of rye, I have thus become a closet user of alcohol to fend off the world, albeit in a much less fun way than Marlowe seemed to manage.