Yesterday I did something really stupid. I somehow managed to lose my garage door opener, which initially didn't seem like that big of a deal to me.
Alas, when I called the garage door company, it appeared that I would have to get a locksmith to get me into my garage so that I could then reprogram a new opener. I have never needed a locksmith before, so I didn't know how much they were. I figured it would cost maybe $50.
I called around and was getting quotes from $150 to $200 to get me into my garage, so I could get my car, so I could go to Home Depot and buy a new opener.
How I lost the opener is beyond me. I somehow managed to lose it between walking from my car to my front door a mere twenty feet away.
I finally find a locksmith that will come out and get me into my garage for about $120. This charge, coupled with spending $30 on a new opener meant by losing a piece of plastic that weighs about 1/2 of a lb, I was out of about $150 and three hours of my life.
But then enter Ben.
Ben is the Israeli locksmith that came to my house. He picked the lock to my garage in a number of minutes, and while he did, we chatted like a couple of old school girls. It came to my attention that not only was Ben Israeli, he was also a sniper. DREAMY.
But what really got me about Ben was his cologne. Ben was the best smelling man I have ever met, and I didn't know how to go about asking him what cologne he was wearing without appearing (1) gay and (2) really needy and gay. So I didn't ask. After Ben was done picking my lock, he gave me his card (got the digits!) and told me that once I had the new remote, all I had to do was reclose the lock on my garage. He left and was seemingly going to be out of my life forever.
After I returned from Home Depot, I reprogrammed my remote, closed the door, and relocked it, just as Ben told me to do. He would be so proud of me!
But after I locked the garage, I hit my newly reprogrammed opener and heard the motor running...but the garage didn't open. I tried to repick the lock...nothing. Shit...
I had to call Ben again.
Ben, can you come back over. I followed your directions, and I am relocked out of my garage.
I'll be right there. And I promise to smell really good when I get there.
He didn't say that last sentence.
When he arrived, he slightly ribbed me for locking myself back out. While he did, his cologne kept wafting over to me. He honestly smelled really, really good.
As we worked together to fix the garage, I thought of 1,000 different ways to ask a man what kind of cologne he is wearing:
So, I'm not gay or anything....but can I smell you?
Ben, get your Israeli-perfume-wearing-ass over here.
Ben, Daddy wants to sniff.
So...you're a sniper? Kill lots of people, do ya? What cologne is that?
No matter how I searched for the right combination of words...I could never actually bring myself to ask him what he was wearing.
He got into his car, and told me to call him if I had any more problems. I still stink, and want to smell better. Does that constitute a "problem?"
I think Ben picked his way into my olfactory-less heart. And if it only cost me $150 to realize that I want to smell better...I salute Israel...and all their flower-scented killing machines.
Here's to Ben!