Sheet About Feet

i'm not angry at my feet-- i'm not even entirely convinced it's their fault. but of the millions of ways i've been fired, quit, or otherwise left a job, i've never imagined my feet to have much to do with it beyond transporting me through the door.


after showering, putting on clean clothes and cologne, my boss still seems to believe he can smell my feet. in fact, in his nose, they're so horrible they merit open doors and "we need to talk" PRIVATE TALKS.

my feet smell: it's true. i'm on them the entire ten-hour shift, some of which is spent running deliveries about downtown. but there is no way my boss can actually smell my feet.

"you're going to need to do something about this," he explained.

"i'm going to try," i said, "but i seriously have no idea where to start. i'm wearing clean socks, i'm showered, and i don't know what else to do. i can't smell them and no one else here can."

"i can," he said, "and it's bad. it's something that needs to be fixed, or else i won't be able to have you around here. do you follow me?"

he can't go many sentences without asking if someone follows him.

"i do," i said as i reached for my audio recorder, "are you saying you'll fire me if my feet keep smelling?"

"just get it fixed."

i definitely would've expected my lack of mathematic skill, or cigarette-smoking to have been the problem sooner than my feet.

"don't take this personally," he continued, "i've kicked women out of my bed because i didn't like the way they smelled."

"oh," i said, unsure of what exactly i was supposed to do with the new information.

"but look into solutions tonight."

when i first started this job, i would secretly document conversations between customers, employees, and my boss with the intention of highlighting his lack of soul. but as time passed, i realized he isn't soulless-- rather severely OCD. he would go berserk if his pen went missing, even if other pens were nearby. he needed HIS PEN.

he wears rubber gloves at home to avoid germs, and that's just how things need to be in his life. everyone's got their thang.

but he's aware that he's not the best conversationalist as a result, and that's why i have the job. he's actually stopped me to say, "sometimes, when i listen to you talk, you make me wet." which is disturbing not only because he said my sentences sexually arouse him, but also because he referred to himself as having a vagina.

the point is, my feet have become the enemy of his nose and i have no idea how to solve the problem. i'm slightly worried because of two important facts:

1. he is quick to fire people.
2. no one else can smell my feet.

no amount of charm is going to save me here. i'm going to play beautiful classical music for my toes tonight. and tomorrow, i'll double-shower, wear new socks (not just clean, but new), and boots rather than converse. i'll have shampooed hair, a cologned body, chapsticked lips, and brushed teeth.

and if my boss can still manage to sniff out my feet from 5' 9" above, and through my scentacular wall of protection, more than ever i will be convinced he is a machine.

and i will be the guy who gets fired because his feet might have smelled.