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Monday, July 11, 2011

Hilariously strange and often twisted connections

WARNING: Today's post contains vulgar language and themes. Please, continue reading!

Do you have anyone in your life that you have a kind of screwed up connection with? You know what I mean. The two of you may not be friends, maybe just acquaintances yet you’ve gone through some trial together and you can’t help but laugh out loud when you see one another. Perhaps you were stranded in an elevator for eight hours together, survived the same ex-boyfriend, or simply watched each other fall on your respective asses in the same puddle on that shiny linoleum tile?

I have a gal that works for the same facility as I do, and we share the rotten twat stairwell. Yes, that’s right. The Rotten Twat Stairwell. You see, several months ago I happened to notice that Monday through Friday, the stairwell at the Eastern end of one of the parking structures always smell like snagglepuss and Kotex perfume. I know, you’re sitting there asking what the hell is Kotex perfume? It’s that powdery flowery “my axewound smells of roses” scent that they seem to use for all scented feminine products. I’ve always wondered why people think their junk should be scented like an old ladies private quarters, much less how they thought that this particular scent would mask any feminine odor issues. But being a gay man I honestly know little about those spam purse nether regions so I kind of just hold my breath and move on when I smell that particular odor. Forgive me, I’m straying from my deviant path… So, this stairwell. Never on the weekends does it have this odor. Always Monday through Friday as I’m leaving work that morning I notice the… scent.

Well, a couple weeks ago I wasn’t feeling so well after my last shift. Kind of run down and exhausted and as I walked into the lingering cloud of powdery garden snatch compost in the sweltering sun smell, my filter wasn’t quite up to snuff. Without even thinking I asked to what I assumed (there’s that evil word again) was an empty stairwell, “Why does it always smell of Kotex perfumed rotten twat in here?” I know, why would I assume at 0730 on a Monday morning one of the more well used stairwells would be empty? I was tired, I was kind of nauseas, I just didn’t think. From above me on the next floor a female’s laugh rang out so loud and hard I thought of bolting out the door opposite of me though it would have put me on the wrong floor. But she turned the corner and it was to late. What did I do? Did I apologize, did I blush, did I stammer a stupid excuse? No, I laughed. And then asked, “Do you know what I mean?” And she did.

She insisted that she completely understood and though was an avid stairgoer had found herself considering using the elevator for that whole one floor due to the odor. I was relieved to hear that another had been tempted to find a route around this odor, and that she too agreed on the nature of this particular odor. Now if we could only find who is leaving this cloud of nastiness behind them so we can take appropriate fire hose powered douching steps.

Today as my work partner and I were walking towards the parking garage, my Rotten Twat Stairwell partner emerged from the doors. Our eyes met, and we laughed. We aren’t even at that stage were we can have that private smile. Nope, we can only laugh bawdy raucous peals of gaiety. I don’t know her name. I didn’t tell her mine. We have no idea in which department the other works. But we share the Rotten Twat Stairwell. I fear like today when I had to explain to my partner and then take her to the stairwell in question so she too could agree with our assessment, that someday we’ll walk into some employee gathering, lock eyes, and have to hide under the tables in fits of smothered laughter. I would really be embarrassed if we had to explain to someone in upper administration or HR the link only to find out that they have the stinky hoohoo.

I may even have to start taking the elevator… and I’ve already learned that harsh lesson of thinking one is alone on an elevator at 0600 and letting a really rotten one rip only to have the doors open to the roof level (Really? Who the hell else parks on the roof when there’s an entire open garage below at 0600) to find a mom holding her baby and her younger looking than her husband standing there. You’re never truly alone in an elevator… Just a warning.

I personally found it best to walk out like everything’s normal and that the elevator always smells of Thai garlic shrimp farts that make your eyes water, get in your car and die laughing once the fumes have let you take a normal breath again.

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