Stinky

I’ve been calling him Stinky ever since he arrived here. The receptionist called me to escort him to his area. I opened the door to see some brown tattered pig leather brief case stuffed under a disheveled man’s cheap thin dress shirt. The least he could do is wear an undershirt. I hate the way a man’s nipples show through those $12.99 dress shirts.


It doesn’t matter, I though. I’ll just give him the information he needs and he’ll be out of here in no time.

He’s been here since before Thanksgiving, and given the comfort he expresses in the office outside by cubicle, he has no intention of leaving his newfound soft spot. His hair is greased back by some disgusting wax or gel that appears is if it wants to leave his head. His shirt is barely tucked in and it ruffles up in places because of the crappy job he does dressing himself. My 5-year-old nephew does better than this slovenly soul. Then again, we’re pretty sure that my nephew is either gay or destine to be the first male in Broadway to sport fuck a woman dancer because he truly wants to. Either way, I just want free tickets to his shows.

Stinky is nothing like that. His skin is rather dry and pasty. At times I wonder why the hair on his chin is so long and flowing. It’s like the hair on my arms, but it’s lying there on his face all long and strait. It’s like an old woman who has hair on her chin. He tried shaving one day, but cut himself and bled all over his pathetic work shirt. He’s so lazy he didn’t bother to put toilet paper or a band-aid on the cut. Instead I watched the blood drip off his chin and onto his shirt as we talked about fixed assets. Drip, drip, drip. And he didn’t even move or wipe it or anything. His shirt was soaked with dots of red and brown drying blood.

I’ve avoided him at all costs. He submits his requests to me on papers that smell like him. Dirty and greasy and some other smell I can’t place, but it lingers and makes my desk smell like he’s sitting in here with me. I shove the papers in a folder and move them as far away as possible.

I went to check on Stinky today and let him know I’d be gone for a couple of days. Did he need anything? Did he have enough to do while I am out? Does he have any questions or concerns about the audit?

And in his pathetic little way, he looked up and asked me to explain something to him. And I realized that in some ways, we’re all a little like Stinky. Maybe not on the outside, but on the inside there’s that person we find some days. The one we have to motivate to put on deodorant and force to floss. The person who wants to put on that old hoodie that hasn’t been washed in a month, but it’s worn every day. That person who’s embarrassed to talk to others because they know they’re not playing within the rules of self-respect. They haven’t shaved their legs in weeks, because its winter and pants are good enough. They haven’t taken out the trash in weeks and it seems like you can go one more day.

Poor Stinky. His little every now and then waste of a person crept up and took over his self-loving person. He needs help getting out of there. So I smile and now I try and treat him more like colleague than I did before. Cause Stinky, I know where you are. I just don’t stay there as often as you do. And at the end of a day, I love to take a long bath, shave my legs, and jump into clean sheets. It’s the little things some days.