Feet 7

(Feet 1 -- http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2006/11/30/feet_1)
(Feet 2 -- http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2006/12/09/feet_5)
(Feet 3 -- http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2006/12/11/feet_8)
(Feet 4 -- http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2006/12/30/feet_9)
(Feet 5 -- http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/02/09/feet_18)
(Feet 6 -- http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer/2007/02/13/feet_19)

In a life lived uncertainly, moving between coasts constantly and not knowing where you'll be laying your head that night (I've been on planes heading from New York to Los Angeles, not knowing where I'll be staying that night), hygiene is often a casualty. Throw in a lack of income and you've got a prescription for bad smells.

Among the parts of the body most susceptible to such smells are feet.

Couple a days wearing the same socks = bad smell
Wearing the shoes without socks = bad-smelling shoes
Periodic socklessness = a stink that crawls up out of your shoes and surrounds you, sometimes mimicking the smell of shit

There are only two things you can do when you've reached this point and don't have the money to get new shoes or a spray or some kind of powder or something:

#1. You can hide (if you have someplace do it).

or

#2. You can simply live your life, acting as if everything is normal and hoping others won't notice or will understand and accept, though you know they've gotta notice, but if they don't say anything, then you won't know for sure, so maybe it was okay and you were worrying unnecessarily.

I have generally chosen, or had thrust upon me, #2.

And the hardest place to cling to the most optimistic yearnings of #2 is in a car.

The doors are closed and you're often sitting right next to someone. Man, it's hell.

Which is why I was so impressed when comedian Bruce Smirnoff gave me a lift home from The Comedy Store one night. He had to notice, I knew. But he asked me how I was and if there was anything he could do for me without criticizing or insulting me or outing me as a stinky feet guy.

And he said I should call him if I ever needed anything. Man, he was nice.

So, a year or two later, when my friend Michael said he was going to a hip, singles thing being thrown by Bruce Smirnoff at a fashionable club, I said, "I'll go with you. Bruce Smirnoff is a really nice guy and he really likes me."

Then the time came to go and Michael told me I could not.

"Bruce said you can't come. He said not to bring you; that you smell and that if I bring you he won't ever invite me to anything else again."

"But I smell okay today. Did you tell him that?"

"I tried to convince him, but he wouldn't listen. And don't tell him I told you this, 'cause he told me not to say anything to you."

I was mortified. I was so embarrassed.

It would have been so much better if Bruce had said something back in that car. I guess when someone doesn't say something, it doesn't mean everything's okay.

Because some things just can't be transcended. Like the primitive, locked-in, unavoidable revulsion to terrible smells.

Still, those smells must be there for a reason, such as to alert us to something.

For instance, my stinky shoes alerted me to the fact Bruce Smirnoff was an insincere prick.

To Be Continued

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16 February, 2007 @ 17:27 GMT
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer