In keeping with my pledge to refer to certain customers as characters from 1970’s and 1980’s television shows, I would like to discuss one “Mary Ann” who comes in on a regular basis. I refer to her as Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island, not because she is cute and perky and from Kansas and has a subtle beauty that makes men want her more than that whore of movie Star, Ginger Grant. I call her Mary Ann because she smells like what I imagine Mary Ann to smell like after three years on an island without a shower or soap. Or maybe she smells like one of her coconut cream pies that have sat in the sun for too long and it went bad so she tried to make it smell better by farting on it and that didn’t work so she threw some monkey poop on it and that didn’t work so she just gave up and went to my station and sat at table three.
I don’t know why this woman smells so bad. The first time I got a whiff of her, I wasn’t sure what the smell was. Perhaps some errant rat that had eaten poison and died under a booth or a homeless man who had taken a nap in the lighting booth. After several passes of the table, I narrowed down the odor to this regular. It’s like a mixture of body odor, skunk and frustration. When I leaned over to ask her what she would like for her second drink, I was punched in the face by her breath. You know what a piece of dental floss smells like after a good tough round of flossing out roast beef and broccoli? That dental floss smells like a a Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds compared to the stench that comes out of her mouth. I swear to God, it smells so bad that flies even avoid it. Imagine a fly sitting on a pile of dog shit on 6th Avenue:
Boy this dog poo sure does smell bad, but I don’t mind. I’m a fly. I love poo, garbage and germs. The stinkier the better, bring it on. I’m a fly, ain’t nuthin‘ gonna breaka my stride, nobody gonna slow me down, oh no, I got to keep on movin‘… (the fly flies away and gets into the airstream of Mary Ann’s breath) Oh, my God, what the hell is that stench? This is awful, I can’t take it. (The fly pulls out a tiny revolver from his tiny coat pocket and blows his tiny brains out.)
When I see Mary Ann come in, I immediately start sending out vibes that she sits anywhere except my station. Since there are only two of us at work, I have a 50/50 chance of breathing in her funk. When she sits elsewhere, it’s like winning the lottery. Except I don’t win a million dollars, I just win the right to breathe. And in my book, that’s worth a good chunk of coconut cream pie.