“Jen, do you smell gasoline? It’s really strong…Yuck.”
This is not a question you wanted asked of you while sitting at a fancy client dinner at The Ivy at the Shore in Los Angeles. This is especially not a question you want asked of you when you are the individual who had been doused in gasoline in an unfortunate incident earlier in the day, and therefore are a cause of the offensive odor.
Yesterday I had yet another of the infamous clumsy days that Gina has documented so well in “Jen’s Clumsy-time Journal.” I would usually just add to the journal, but I believe the extreme nature of the events that happened yesterday deserve their own recognition.
When I awoke at 5am yesterday morning, I was aware that the day was going to be hectic. I had a client visiting from Sacramento, and was staring down the barrel of a day full of meetings, followed by a huge dinner party that I had organized for a bunch of people. The client that I was picking up was a self-proclaimed cheapskate, and asked that I pick her up from Burbank airport and then shuttle her around town all day in order for her to save on the cost of cab far or a car rental. I agreed, anything to please the client, but warned her straight out that I had just moved to LA, and did not know my way around at all. Frightened of getting lost, I plugged all my destinations into Mapquest, and was armed with a stack of directions the size of a small novel when I arrived at Burbank Airport to pick her up. It was while I was waiting for her in the pick-up area when I had my first incident. I was waiting in my car, distracted by Howard Stern, and was startled when the security guard snuck up on me and pounded on my window asking me to move my car. I was so startled in fact, that my incredibly hot cup of coffee flew out of my hands and landed nicely in the middle of my passenger seat, spilling all over my car, myself, and more importantly, all over my directions. Luckily they were still somewhat legible, just quite wet. When my client showed up, whom by the way I was meeting for the first time, I was frantically trying to wipe up the coffee on my skirt and the passenger seat with a tee shirt from my gym bag. I greeted her with an overly-enthusiastic “Hi there! Nice to meet you.” She eyed me warily and hesitantly sat down on the just-clean passenger seat.
Due to the smeared and coffee stainded directions, I got lost several times on the way to my meetings. I managed to cover up my mistakes somewhat as my client did not know her way around Los Angeles either. She seemed to think that it took 45 minutes to travel what was supposed to be about five miles. After the long morning finally ended, I frantically rushed back into the office, late for a lunch meeting. I entered the dark, and very quiet, conference room where the meeting had already begun, and sat down quickly in the only available chair. I was shocked to realize that someone had used said chair as a resting place for their plate of half-eaten pizza and salad. I jumped up, yelled “SHIT!!” in front of everyone, and excused myself to the ladies room to clean myself up. I returned to the meeting embarrassed and pizza stained, and thought to myself, "This day surely can't get any worse."
I spent the rest of the afternoon driving my client aimlessly all over Los Angeles. As I dropped her off for the last meeting of the day, I realized that the frantic driving had drained my gas tank, and I needed a fill-up so as to not run out of fuel on my way to my big client dinner at The Ivy. I rolled up to the Shell station, and began pumping. As I reached down to fix the strap on my brand new pair of red leather sling-back stilettos (BCBG...and very NICE), the gas hose came flying out of the tank and proceeded to douse me from the waist down. I was soaked with gasoline. Literally soaked…it was dripping off my skirt, and had pooled in my shoes. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for someone to acknowledge what had happened. Unfortunately, the only person who saw the incident was a woman who appeared to be a prostitute, and even she was looking at me with pity. There was no gas station attendant to be found to help me out, and the station was one of those with only a small booth in which to pay, therefore offering no bathroom where I could take refuge and clean myself up. I whimpered quietly, wondering what the hell I could do. I didn’t have time to go home, and I HAD to attend the dinner. It had been planned for weeks, many people were coming, and I was the glue that was holding all the attendees together. I rummaged through my gym bag, found a pair of yoga pants, and proceeded to change into them while seated in the driver’s side of my car. I put my shoes in a plastic bag, and angrily threw my coffee/pizza/unleaded fuel stained skirt into the trash with a flourish. I called ahead to the office where I was to be picking up MORE clients that I was meeting for the first time, and told my boss what had happened. My explanation was met with silence and absolutely no compassion, so I forged onward. I returned to work, and spent about 20 minutes in the ladies room putting together an outfit that consisted of the aforementioned yoga pants, the shirt that I used earlier in the day to clean up the coffee in my car, a leather jacket (you know...to dress up the outfit a bit), and a pair of running shoes. I unfortunately still had no access to a shower, so I attempted to wipe the gasoline off my legs with paper towels from the women’s restroom. When we got to my car to leave for the restaurant my client informed me that I did in fact smell quite bad, and offered me some of her perfume to help mask the smell. I thanked her profusely, and, not realizing that the cap was already unscrewed, poured the entire bottle of Chloe onto my arm. It was then that I cried.
After the story of my being doused in gas came out at dinner, I had to sit through two hours of people making fun of me. The waiter went to light a candle…everyone at the table screamed “NOOOO!!” One particularly funny client asked the waiter to pretend that I was disturbing the neighboring table with my odor. I was not amused.
I woke up this morning with a fresh outlook on life. After all…it was a new day. Unfortunately, my sunny disposition quickly disappeared quickly. As I sat down at my desk this morning, my contact lens popped out of my eye and when I bent down to pick it up, I rolled over it with my chair, rendering it completely useless. As I type this, one eye is clear…the other blurry, and I have a low-grade migraine as a result.
Good times.
