Do me a favor and think back over your life.  Now tell me something; when is the last time you spent more time than was necessary inside of a janitor’s closet?  Or better yet, don’t tell me quite yet but keep your answer in mind and listen to this…

I was sitting, innocently ignoring the world outside of my local Starbuck’s (as is usually the case on my day off) with “Show Your Bones” (I’m back into the fantastic rut of listening to The Yeah Yeah Yeahs latest album on infinite repeat) playing quite loud in my headphones and Stephen Hawking’s “A Brief History of Time” taking up the better portion of my consciousness when I was rudely sucked out of the physicist’s discussion of black holes (hehe, sucked out of a black hole) by a strange odor.  I would have sworn that the girl (I’ll refrain from making uninformed character judgements, but she had that ever-attractive tanning booth orange complexion (you live in southern california go out in the real sun people)) who had just passed my table must have been carrying a coconut that had been soaking in ammonia.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of personal hygiene products, but whatever deodorant or perfume or feminine hygiene product she had sprayed/splashed/rubbed/spread/bathed herself with this morning combined with whatever ungodly quantity she must have used had the effect of giving her the odor of an ammonia-soaked coconut.

And I’m not done.  She was joined shortly after her arrival by a squadron of similarly sprayed/splashed/rubbed/bathed beauties, no two of whom wore the same products.  The seven of them together created a toxic cloud which did not hover, or float or waft or partake in any such sort of activity becoming of a feminine odor.  No, their cloud squatted, infiltrated, invaded and occupied the patio outside of my local Starbuck’s.

I’m not exaggerating, three other people got up and moved upwind.  I wanted to say to them “Excuse me, but are you girls aware that you collectively give off the scent of a florist’s janitor’s-closet?  In light of this faux pas you all might consider coordinating your perfumes in the future, or maybe disbanding this particular circle of friends and forming new, scent-coordinated friendships.”

If I had thought they would have listened to me, I might have said it.  Realistically speaking, though, they would have raised an eyebrow at my actual coffee and told me to go away and not to come back until my drink matched their chocolate/vanilla/pumpkin/caramel/coffee flavored slurpees.

I think I’m just in a bad mood because I’m reading Stephen Hawking and he says the universe is expanding and will someday collapse.  At least I didn’t grow up living under a roller coaster.

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