Thursday, August 2, 2007

An email from my brother-in-law

[Alternate title: My brothers-in-law are all better writers than I, and it makes me sad...when I'm not laughing my ass off.]

Here, uncommented-upon, in its entirety:

I had to work late tonight, after 36 high-pressure hours. When I got on the elevator, the first person I saw was a youngish blue collar guy carrying two heavy cartons and looking even more stressed than I felt. The only other person in the elevator was one of those oblivious anorexic 20-something twits with a cellphone glued to her ear and a loud nasal voice that felt like razor blades slicing right through your tympanic membrane.

At around the 8th floor, the guy let out this ripping fart--the kind that all men would have been eminently proud to have fathered. He immediately turned to me and said, "Sorry"--but he didn't even acknowledge Miss Cellphone. By then the stench was beginning to rise, so she pulled the phone away from her ear long enough to whine, "That's disgusting." Whereupon he snapped right back at her, "If I gotta listen to your shit, you gotta smell mine." I was so hysterical that I high-fived his right shoulder.

I have no idea who this man was, but I think I'm going to write a play about him.

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