One night, a few weeks back, I was coming out of a restaurant with a big ole pile of Italian food, on my way to deliver dinner to a nice, wealthy, and high-tipping customer (…right). I had left my keys with the valet, and was walking toward him to make the exchange.
His back was turned toward me.
In the split second that I reached his personal space, but before I had said “Hi! It’s me again! Back for my giant bunch of keys –”, he let one rip.
A huge one. Loud and juicy.
I almost screamed. At the same time, I didn’t want to embarrass him by appearing in the midst of — the action. (Damn these stupid boots with their sneak-up rubber soles.)
He was standing in between the restaurant and my car. So I did this speed-walking wide turn where I approached him from the opposite side – seemingly having just simply strolled out of an Eastern European bridal shop with a bunch of lasagna.
I took my keys. We said nothing. Well, we said “Have a good night”. But he must have known, right? Did he? Surely my face betrayed me, looking all “Youuuuuu farrrrted.”
And “— I heard it. Because I was right behind your asshole.”
I drove away as fast as I could. Vowing never to speak of this again.
[Fast forward, to last week.]
Let me set this up by telling you, I drank two “Cruciferous Cleanse” fresh juices, two days in a row, by accident. Any normal person would know what the word cleanse means. I just thought it meant “green”. And “health”.
I was driving my car, on the beat for the delivery job. I pulled up to a classy Mexican joint in West Hollywood. There was nowhere to park, so I waited for the valet to see me.
While sitting in my car, I….. Well. You know. I made a balloon animal. Cruciferous Cleanse had honed in on my guts and was having its way with them.
Of course I put all the windows down immediately. But no big deal. I was just gonna park my car and run into the restaurant.
The valet approached me and said, “I take keys and park car, ok?”
OH GOD. No living thing can survive in this atmosphere.
“O—-K… Um…” I stepped out of my car. “Uh… Lemme just get something.” I made like a LOT of extra motions of getting in and out of my car, waving bits of clothing around, opening and closing doors. It was like I had instant car-exiting OCD.
He took my keys and I made a beeline for the restaurant. WHATEVER HAPPENS WE SHALL NEVER SPEAK OF THIS — MAYBE I HIT A SKUNK EARLIER, OR A HARDBOILED EGG, OR – WHO ARE YOU — YOU DON’T KNOW!! AAAAAAA!!”
I was sweating and my stomach grumbled as I waited for some other people’s enchiladas.
I guess I paid it forward. I dunno. Our jobs are hard enough as it is. We don’t all need to be farting on each other.
Maybe someday I’ll be a famous person in a diamond-y Range Rover, pulling up to valet again, for real.
I promise to make sure it smells like fresh baked cookies in there.
Or at least fresh-struck matches.