I think it’s fair to say George Costanza was reviled. I sure reviled the guy. He embodied the package of traits that define the lower man: cowardly opportunistic gullible egotistical and simpering. Sometimes I’m disconcerted to discover I’m corralled into situations in which George Costanza could conceivably find himself. It leads me to examine myself and my behavior. I’m not George Costanza, am I? I prefer to think I’m not, but I can be oddly neurotic occasionally. At times I’m overly fixated on my environment and situations I imagine to be far worse than they really are. I have my Costanza moments and I am not proud of this. Yet, I believe I am a far superior man than George Costanza. I have a modicum of self-respect and a no-fucks attitude that paints my bold outlook. But still, the occasional Costanza moments creep up on me. Those times I must confront my inner Costanza. Am I this bad?
For instance, this morning a chain of events unfolded and led to a Costanza moment for me at work.
It all began when I prepared my lunch this morning. I filled a small cup-sized plastic container with plain Mountain High yogurt, placed about a 1/2 cup of an almond, spicy trail mix and sunflower seed mixture in a baggie and tucked them into my lunch bag with a Red Delicious apple. In addition, I made 2 hard-boiled eggs which I allowed to sit and cool in the pot while I took my shower and got ready for work. In order to ensure the eggs were as cooled as possible, so as to not overpower the frozen ice pack I put in my lunch bag to keep my food chilled, I waited to put them in my lunch bag until just before leaving the house. Now a key fundamental of the typical hard boiled egg is that if the shell is not broached, they will not exude like that dreaded egg sulfur smell. If the eggshell is broken, however, the smell will seep out, leaving the stench of bad farts in its wake. This is an established fact. Well, the plan was to scoop the eggs into my lunch bag, unbroken. So what happened? I dropped one on the kitchen floor in my haste. It cracked, so I had to wrap it in a napkin and place it into the lunch bag. Already the fart smell was climbing out. Ugh. I left and forgot about it.
After I parked, I grabbed my lunch bag and instantly caught a whiff of the egg fart smell. You see, my lunch bag is torn and I’m too cheap to buy a new one. So odd odors, like egg sulfur, are prone to seep out through the tear. Whatever. I grabbed my lunch bag and walked into the building. I clocked in, walked to the elevator and entered alone. Just then I caught yet another whiff of the egg sulfur but thought nothing of it. I planned to put the egg in the refrigerator the minute I got to my floor. Once an eggshell is compromised, the egg is prone to food contamination, so it must be refrigerated quickly. As the elevator door began to close, I heard a voice, an accented female voice, yelling to keep the door open. I grabbed it just before it closed and in she scurried. There is this foreign lady that works in the building. She has a slight accent, not sure what it is. She is striking. Very striking. The total kind of chick I think is hot. A tall and slender brunette with an exotic face. She is hot and she is very friendly to me! Female strangers are generally not very friendly with me, especially the ones who are this level of hot. She is a foreigner. French, Algerian, Spanish? I don’t know. I’m too old to act like a giddy little girl when a hot chick enters my life, and in fact, I deliberately tone down the awe. I acted as if she were a 65-year-old schoolteacher in polyester slacks and granny shoes. She had no effect on me and this is the way I wanted it to appear. I don’t want her to know I have a stupid mid-life crush on her. I asked her which floor and then I suddenly realized I was holding this bag that smelled like fart.
I vaguely panicked.
Is it leaking the scent?
I’m terrified that the elevator smells like sulfur. Oh no. Will she think it was me? What if she thinks this odor came out my butt? Maybe she thinks I squeezed one out before she screamed for me to hold the door. Oh oh. I tried to sniff the air secretly so I could tell if the elevator air had any trace of lingering sulfur. This was worrisome. I even held up the bag and looked at it just so she could tell I was puzzled by the odor and perhaps think I was examining the bag for the smell so she would essentially conclude that the smell did not issue from my intestines. It was a very lame display. I even doubled up the bag to keep the tear from exuding any scents. By doubling the bag up I was hoping to keep the egg with the broken shell partitioned until we left the elevator. If I could just contain that odor until she left the elevator! The elevator ride seemed to last forever. Finally her floor arrived and she looked at me and smiled warmly and graciously and I was perplexed because the smile did not tell me if she was hiding a secret knowledge. Maybe she didn’t smell my egg! Or maybe she did, maybe she thought I cut the cheese and being the classy woman born in some smelly foreign country, managed to not be terribly discombobulated by the horrid odor.
I don’t think I’ll find out what she knew, or didn’t.
That’ll be our llittle secret between me and the sultry hottie.