Shortly after waking up Dan and I traveled into the outskirts of Denver for lunch, music/thrift store browsing, and a round of golf with his parents (I shot 16 over on the 9 holes, but got 2 pars). Having skipped breakfast were eager to eat, and were hoping to find something that Telluride lacks. Our eyes, and stomachs became set on all-you-can-eat Japanese sushi buffet extravaganza!!! "Closed Mondays. Wtf..." So at my request to find something ethnic we walked into a remarkable Chinese joint. And by remarkable I mean there is only the following to remark. It stank...like, crazy stank.
It reminded me of a hotel I stayed at with my father during a business trip to the Pacific Northwest. The hotel was the sort of place that a horror/smut film would/should/probably has been shot in. Dark halls, filthy sheets...There was a fucking cloudy hot tub in the underground parking garage. No, I'm not kidding, and if you're wondering: of course we didn't swim in it! (It was being occupied by a native american family most of whom were drinking beers, and though I'm not xenophobic I do know when to avoid potentially life-ending situations.) That night, despite my father being there with me, I felt as out of place and vulnerable as Tom Hanks' character in B.I.G when he has to occupy a room next to abusive pimps and drug-addicted proztitutz. I think it was the smell that took me back there. It smells....hmm give me a second...like burnt carpet, which has been soaked in fear-sweat, urinated upon, left to dry by the sun and high pressure sodium street-light sneaking in through the slowly disintegrating drapes, vaccumed with a machine with a loose belt and overstuffed dust bag, and then sprayed with we-bought-it-in-bulk-because-it-is-toxic-and-cheap-but-does-the-job-and-frankly-I-could-give-a-fuck-about-you-or-the-environment cleaning solvents, and then dried again by an over active AC unit. Get it? I digress, back to the Chinese restaurant.
On our way in, we noticed a sign for two-for-one domestic beers. Dan ordered us a round of Budweisers the moment we sat down, menus were dropped, and we tried desperately to ignore this previously described odor. The place was empty, not a soul, save the classic older Chinese waitress/bartender/busser/owner. In the silence I looked at Dan. The facts: no music, despite peak lunch time it was empty, it was a Chinese restaurant located in a foreign area, and that fucking smell. All signs pointed to "BAIL!" or suffer the gastrointestinal consequences. And yet we remained. Due to the lack of cover noise (a.k.a. overhead music) we said nothing. We skimmed the menu and Dan remarked, "Oh, good, and it's cheap too." As the price tag $6.75 I briefly considered the General Tao's chicken, which came with a nice array of vegetables (atypical in my experience), until I again took a breath through my noise. The word "wiff" may forever have a negative connotation for me now. That was it, no longer could I silence my instincts. I had to say something.
"Dan, what the fuck is that smell dude?"
"I know right!" he exclaimed.
I immediately suggested we just finish our beers and leave. Instinctually she returned.
"You ready order?" she asked.
"Well, actually, we just came in for a couple of beers." I smiled politely and looked to Dan for resolution, and fortitude.
"Uh...yeah....I think we'll just have these beers." He muttered.
"In fact, how much do I owe you for the beers?"
Confusion and disappointment distorted her face. It then occurred to me that Dan and I probably looked quite the couple. Dan with his mosaic patterned, stale olive colored, 90s throw-back t-shirt, fully beard, and green Crocs, and me with my backwards fishing cap, a serial killer mustache, and blond hair running wildly out over my ears like Krusty the Clown. I can only fantasize she thought we were some shady hit-men plotting our next move.
On our way out I felt so embarrassed that we were leaving I asked, "So what time do you open tomorrow?" I heard Dan laugh softly to himself, and it occurred to me that my empty promises in moments of social awkwardness are what makes me a douche bag (from time to time). I felt bad for a moment, and then realized it wasn't my fault. This was an act of self-preservation and good judgement.
Our sigh of relief was as noticeable as the clean air we were now breathing.
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