I don't know why this woman smells so bad. The first time I got a whiff of her, I wasn't sure what the smell was. Perhaps some errant rat that had eaten poison and died under a booth or a homeless man who had taken a nap in the lighting booth. After several passes of the table, I narrowed down the odor to this regular. It's like a mixture of body odor, skunk and frustration. When I leaned over to ask her what she would like for her second drink, I was punched in the face by her breath. You know what a piece of dental floss smells like after a good tough round of flossing out roast beef and broccoli? That dental floss smells like a a Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds compared to the stench that comes out of her mouth. I swear to God, it smells so bad that flies even avoid it. Imagine a fly sitting on a pile of dog shit on 6th Avenue:
Boy this dog poo sure does smell bad, but I don't mind. I'm a fly. I love poo, garbage and germs. The stinkier the better, bring it on. I'm a fly, ain't nuthin' gonna breaka my stride, nobody gonna slow me down, oh no, I got to keep on movin'... (the fly flies away and gets into the airstream of Mary Ann's breath) Oh, my God, what the hell is that stench? This is awful, I can't take it. (The fly pulls out a tiny revolver from his tiny coat pocket and blows his tiny brains out.)
When I see Mary Ann come in, I immediately start sending out vibes that she sits anywhere except my station. Since there are only two of us at work, I have a 50/50 chance of breathing in her funk. When she sits elsewhere, it's like winning the lottery. Except I don't win a million dollars, I just win the right to breathe. And in my book, that's worth a good chunk of coconut cream pie.
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