December 03, 2011

forty thousand dead things

I have chronic bad breath, it smells like forty thousand dead things.
I work for some marketing company, part time.

Those two comments are related.

This company sends me into different stores and I set up displays of whatever they tell me to.
I run into lots of lovely, interesting people.
Like Brad, the creeper. Pretty sure Brad is a pedophile on the side. I dart behind whatever I can find when I see Brad coming.  And Nancy, the girl who laughs at everything I say like I'm the funniest person she's ever met. I love Nancy, by the way. And the Hershey's guy, who is tall and cute and who's name I don't know, but one time I was having a bad day and he loaned me his pen. I've wanted to marry him ever since. And Ron, the straight guy who acts gay and is always all up in my personal space. I have this tendency to walk backwards when Ron is talking to me. And Nick, the guy who told me he was gay the other day when we were getting product out of the back freezer. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say...  
Congratulations? 
I'm grossed out?
I'm very disappointed in you? 
Remember Sodom and Gomorrah?
Am I going to get fired for saying all that to you?
Instead I said something brilliant, I like chicken and cheese taquitos. 
He looked kinda confused for a minute, but I figured he was already confused and a little more wouldn't hurt him.

So the other day, I was in this one store, back in the freezer (that freezer is a happening place), yanking my product off the shelves when in walks Rob.
Rob is about eighteen.
Rob is kinda cute.
Rob is certain he's the awesomest stud ever and the perfect gift to all womankind.
Rob likes to give me his best James Dean look whenever he gets the chance.
He swaggered over and squeezed himself into the 4 inches of space that was between me and the wall.
Leaned over me... whispered huskily in my ear, Can I get anything down for you?

Pause: This is the part where I get to be creative. This is the part where my forty thousand dead things, dragon breath comes in handy. This is the part I love.

I breathed sexily back at him over my shoulder, Think you can reach those Sara Lee pies? 
Poor Rob. Forty thousand dead things hit him square in his cute little face.
He flinched.
Forty thousand dead things hung frozen between us.
I fluttered my eyelashes.
I got an eyelash stuck in my eye.
Rob remembered something he desperately needed to do and exited the freezer.
I hollered at the back of his head, Hey Rob, next time I'm here I'll bring my teenage pictures for you to see. Oh yeah, baby.

For a minute there, we had been like James Dean and Marilyn Monroe in that freezer, standing next to the frozen Sara Lee pies.