(For effect: This was meant to be posted on/around Halloween.)
There is something to be said for having "Cooth". One of grandmother's greatest fears was that I would grow up not having any, and I know this because on a daily basis she would find reason to ask me if I had it. She was as persistent with this line of questioning as she was about making sure I always had on clean underwear. I could never fully understand her fascination with my possession of some strange Scottish coloquilism or the state of my panties..... That is, I couldn't until recently.
At a work event over Halloween I met the embodiment of my grandmother's worst fear in the form of one of my clients. He certainly lacked any Cooth, and gave me first hand knowledge about the state of his undergarments in one of the most traumatic experiences I've had in my office to date.
To begin my story, it's worthy of note that the unfortunate placement of my office situates me very close to the office bathroom (which gives me uncomfortable perspective on the bowel patterns of my coworkers) and it is this fact for which I blame the run-in I had with Mr. No-Cooth.
He had approached me looking for a gym bag he had sent in with his son earlier that morning. This isn't unusual, we will do searches in the large bathroom adjacent to my office when our residents come and go from the facility. I told him that the bathroom was currently occupied, but that we would look once it was open.
"Great." he said, "I am pretty sure my socks are in there. I'm on day 3 with the ones I'm wearing right now - I really could use a change."
I just stared at him.
Not that there wasn't like a million- or exactly 3- things going through my mind at that exact moment though.
First; WHY would this man be wearing the same pair of socks he left his home state with, when I KNOW he'd been checked into the hotel down the street for 2 days? ... The same hotel that is conveniently located near a Wal*Mart..... They sell socks at Wal*Mart.
Second; WHY would you share that kind of information with a stranger? What could possibly be gained by disclosing the status of your socks in casual conversation? ... Was I supposed to feel pity? Was I supposed to feel a bond of closeness because, at some point in life, surely everyone wears the same pair of socks for 3 days in row?... Clearly my conversation etiquette has a few gaping holes if there is an obvious way to react and converse in this situation.
Third; (And maybe this was my overactive imagination) I immediately started to smell the nasty-man-corn-chip smell that usually accompanies men's gym bags and college dorm bedroom carpets. ... With this thought, I was tormented with the onslaught of instant nausea. I had to brace myself against a wall to keep from hunching over the trash can.
The smell had little but dissipated when the bathroom became free and he retrieved the gym bag. The next thing I knew he was sitting down, AT MY DESK, and changing his socks. I stared at him in horror. I was only half aware that he was talking to me, saying something like "I just hate to put on dirty socks after a shower, it feels so wrong!". I really don't remember much of what he said, as most of my attention was focused on holding down the bile in the back of my throat, until I heard him declare "Look at those toenails!"... To this day, what continues to baffle me is his tone of pride behind that statement.
And, y'all, I couldn't help myself. I looked.
That hue of green has denied me of any appetite for split pea soup.... forever. Enough said.
Once his socks were replaced, I saw him gather in his hands the clothing he had discarded on my desk - including the corn-chip smelling socks... only there was more than socks. I distinctly noticed the blue and yellow line that don the Fruit Of The Loom waist band. I couldn't believe it. The man had the audacity to place his questionably clean tightie-whities, on my desk!! I had no idea where they came from, and I didn't want to know. I was far too absorbed with the thought of sanitizing my entire work space with Lysol, and creating ways to avoid crying myself to sleep at night.
It was days before I could fully describe the horror of the situation to my coworkers and friends, and it came to me as I made the connection in my mind between those years as a child when my grandmother demanded an answer to the question "Ain't you got no Cooth?" and Mr. No-Cooth's actions that morning.
I was sure my grandmother rolled over in her grave. And maybe his grandmother too.... and every other self-respecting, cooth-reminding, ever-loving grandmother that ever lived.
Truly, there is something to be said for having Cooth.
-Mag
-Mag
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