It’s not me
“Hmmm, how about Hopsmith?” Anne asks. “That feels in between where they’re staying and where we are.”
My friend, Anne, and I are meeting up with our other friend from college and his girlfriend before they have a birthday party and we’ll either stay at the bar we choose or head back up north to watch the Michigan basketball game (go blue!!!!!). We don’t know the area of town very well, so I’ve got her on speaker phone as both of us consult our google maps.
“Yeah, sounds great. Hopsmith it is.” We hang up, and I get myself together to head down to her.
From her apartment, we hop on the train together down to the chosen bar, trying our best (and failing) to not touch too many rails. Ick. Trains.
Raph and his girlfriend are already there and the hostess has sat them at an insanely small table at the front. Barely large enough for two drinks... and I want food. This is not going to work. We don’t even need to say anything - another waiter comes by, takes one look at our set up, and promptly shows us to a booth in the back. Phew. So far, so good.
Pretty much as soon as we sit down, I notice a smell.
Disclaimer: I have a very, very sensitive nose. So, again, I hold my tongue. But man. Someone either is having a rough Saturday afternoon or something is seriously wrong with the plumbing. It’s coming in waves, which almost makes me think that it’s someone … in our group. But Anne, who’s next to me, looks innocent. No fidgeting, nothing. What the heck is this smell.
Finally, Anne looks at me. “That’s not you, right?” she mutters under her breath.
My eyes go wide. “Dude, no, thank god it’s not you either. Do you seriously think it could be the girls behind us?”
“No,” she says. “This smells like a bigger issue. They’re too far away.”
It’s then that she looks in horror down at our hands. “Oh yuck, we haven’t washed since the train!”
I make a face. We just put in an order for chicken fingers. That would’ve been naaaasty. I scooch out of the booth, Anne close behind. As soon as we turn the corner and open the bathroom door, the smell hits us. It is staggering. Overpowering. Eye-watering.
“Oh, absolutely not,” she says as she runs for the sink.
We both wash our hands in record time, Anne holding in some impressive gags. “Wait, listen, they’re pumping.” We turn off the water and, sure enough, it sounds like they’re pumping out the bathroom right outside.
When we get back to the table, we explain our red eyes to Raph and his girlfriend - “Oh phew, I did not want to ask in case it was anyone here!” his girlfriend politely exclaims.
Needless to say… Anne and I chose to go somewhere else to watch the basketball game.
