the lingering smell that is fame

It's late and I want to go to bed. I am in the last stages of putting toothpaste on my toothbrush while transfixed at the aging image staring back at me in the mirror. I seem to play with my plan with my skin a lot more now. Lifting it, stretching it out, pulling on it. Noting works. My pants are dancing down my legs on their way to my ankles, but for the most part, I'm naked. The only light in the perch is coming from the empty city outside. There is just a sprinkling of rain in the air which you can feel in every passing breeze. As much as I would love this night at any other time, I'm very tired from my long day of feeling sorry for myself, and I could care less.

My phone rings, which shocks me. No one calls me this late, so it must be an emergency. I pick it up and all I hear is a woman sobbing. It must be really, really serious! Sobbing is never a good way to start a phone conversation. No longer the least bit tired, I keep asking the person on the phone, "Who is this?" and "Where are you?". All I hear is a faint, "The Swiss" in a heavily slurred drunk female voice.

The Swiss is a local bar that is pretty popular with everyone in Tacoma so as a clue, it's pretty useless. The only thing I can tell about this caller; They're local. Perhaps the voice belongs to one of the local comics, they're notorious drunks, perhaps there was a fight and they got messed up and one of their girlfriends is reaching out. My heart, as fragile and broken as it is, comes to life in a flash.

I rush to put on my pants, my socks and shoes and the first shirt I can find. I grab a grey flannel work shirt and I am running out the door, putting on clothes and jumbling keys. Most of the buttons don't find the correct button hole. I look like a mess.

As I pull up to the Swiss, I see a small crowd out front that is laughing and smiling and loving life. I drive a bit further and there, just down the block, I can see a dark figure leaning up against an SUV that isn't laughing, smiling or moving at all. All I can see is blonde hair, but no face. I park and I approach the figure, not knowing if this is the right person. I would hate to walk up and grab the wrong drunk. I am absolutely shocked to find out who it is. I know her, it's (her name and identity will be protected here). WOW!

"Are you alright. Do you need to go to the hospital?" That's really all I could think to say at the time. I wanted to make sure that she hadn't been assaulted, but she wasn't talking to me and she wasn't going to move her hair out of her face to show me if she was okay. There is a lot of crying and just some small head nods for answers. I need to get her home.

I take her keys and I put her in my borrowed car. She crumples up with her face away from me and just sobs. I start driving without having any idea where to go.

"Where do you live?" I ask several times.
"Gig Harbor" she replies after I start getting testy.

I have been to Gig Harbor quite a few times. It's just outside of town across the Tacoma narrows bridge and it's made up of a lot narrow, dark, unmarked streets that lead to rich people's private, gated homes. It's incredibly easy to get lost there and I have many times. All of the houses there say, "Go away!". My first thought was that it was going to be impossible to find her house and that if we did, I was going to have to buzz her family at the gate to get her in the house. Of course, they would think that I did this to her and I would have to explain that, NO, I wasn't the culprit. And that I am just a late night savior. But no one believes those stories. I guess I could just buzz them and leave her in a grocery cart like they did in "Animal House."

It takes an hour to get the directions from her because she just seems too upset about something else to want to go home. She is at that level of sadness where even the thought of going home is not enough to bring her peace. What ever happened to her this evening must have been pretty severe. I decide it's best not to press the issue.

This is a story of me driving someone that is drunk home. So it goes without saying that she did foul the car and herself along the way. I won't say what it was, but I will say it wasn't puke. It was another drunkard's malady.

I finally get her to her house and thankfully it's a nice home without a gate, but it's still miles and miles and miles away from the highway. I was so busy with her that I didn't pay attention to where I was going or how to get back - something which I pride myself on doing everywhere I go. So by the time I have dropped her off and pulled back out on to the dark, narrow, unmarked road, I am clueless as to how to get back. It's late. The car smells so bad that all the windows are down and I see the fuel light... Blinking.

I'm lost the second I pull forward. It doesn't matter where I'm going, I have no idea which way to turn, so no matter what, I'm just making it worse for myself. The only thing I remember about getting here is that it's "far" and "keep going". Even if I could replay the drunk's directions in my head, I don't know which left or right to "turn right here!" at. The distant glow of Tacoma on the horizon is the only bearing that I have and so I just keep turning toward the glow to get me home. I'm smiling. As fast as my mind works, all the imagery is just what I needed.

I run out of gas in much the same way someone in a horror film watches their flashlight slowly dim or when they watch their gun run out of ammo just as the monster rises up to behead them and they throw their gun in desperation.

It's pitch black in the heavily wooded, highly protected, wealthy community. Their narrow, unmarked streets to deter outsiders have claimed a new victim. I am lost, cold, in a car with a POWERFUL odor, out of gas and now I have to walk out of here. The first thought that goes through my head is that the person who lent me the car needs it back at 8 A.M. and that I probably won't get any sleep tonight.

I walk aimlessly in the dark for a mile or two before I am stopped by a cop and thrown in the back of the cruiser. I am not in my car and the owner is peacefully sleeping, unaware of the surprise that awaits her in the morning. What am I doing out here so late? Where do I work?(a question that they ask that they really shouldn't) Where does this drunk person live? Where does the person who owns the car live? What is the name of the drunk person? Why you?

Why me? Exactly! Why does everything happen to me?! Why has my luck run out in such dramatic fashion?! Why me?! Never has a question been more aptly asked. I might be going to jail, which would enable me to see the bottom of the bottom. A place where only the truly tragic ever have the misfortune of ending up. And I have the one way ticket. I get to see it all, up close and personal.

I give every piece of information that I have and explain the story. I am able to tell them who owns the car, a good idea of where they live, but not the address exactly, and how I know them. I don't know their phone number because I am a modern man and I use a cell phone which means I only know their name, not their number. I also try to make my case that no car thief would steal a car that smelled this badly.

Just as I slam into the bottom, something happens and instead of pain and great discomfort, I find that I am bouncing back up, like a superball. It happens as quickly as it started - The cop says, "Daniel Rock. Daniel Rock... You're not DAN Rock the stand up comic?"

"Yeah, that's me" I say. Fully expecting his recognition of me to be a bad thing.

"Dead baby Jesus! Right!" He says in much the same way you would say, "OJ! Right!" if you saw Kato Kaelin. It's my most controversial bit and what I open every show with, and most people stare in absolute horror as I do it. Some love it, most don't. He loved it. And not just a little bit, he repeated it to me. Odd, because that joke is something that changes every time I do it. Amazing.

He caught my show at Jazzbones a few weeks back and he can't stop telling people about it. He loved the show and wants a CD really, really badly, if I have one. I don't. But I promise he will be the first one to get one.

He takes me to a gas station and then back to the car. All the while asking about my comedy and the life of a stand up and touring and "the ladies" - General fame questions. Suddenly the dynamic in the car has gone from him, stormtrooper and me, next holding cell tenant, to him, giddy fan and me, arrogant and stalwart superhero. I can tell that he is going to try stand up in the near future and I tell him smugly, to give me a call if he needs some help with it.

He leads me out to the highway and waves goodbye. He even puts on his lights behind me as a joke, but before I get on the highway, I have to stop and "sponge" up most of the good deed in the passenger seat. The smell in the car is painful. Even a full bottle of Febreeze isn't working on it. The windows are down, the vent is huffing at full power and I... I'm still smiling.

I was in such a hurry that I didn't lock my front door and the toothpaste is still sitting there on the toothbrush, waiting to be used. I am in bed and as close to a breakdown as I have ever been. The saying, "No good deed goes unpunished" ringing inside my head. Oh what a powerful perspective shift and, oh, did I ever need this kick in the ass! Looking back I can see that my sorrows aren't deep at all, they're topical. My needs aren't great, their practically petty. My suffering isn't eternal, it barely qualifies as momentary. And most importantly, I was successful in my goal of coming to Tacoma. I came here to make a name for myself in comedy, and look! I have done just that. It took this crazy series of events to show me that dreams happen, It just may take a while and may come in a different fashion than you were expecting. I wanted the fame and I got some. Not one person in Tacoma has recognized me from any of my shows, except for one. And when it finally happened, it saved my ass. It was the "one" that mattered. It gave me gas. Gas to keep going... To get through the dark and unmarked streets... To humbly accept assistance from those that I would normally despise... To accept that dreams won't always be perfect or the way I want them... To be prepared for the unpleasant work that I might have to do to make them happen... To remember that I am truly blessed, even when I hit the bottom, I am blessed.

It's been a tough year for a lot of people I know. Really tough. My drunk friend is having her own tough year and I'm sure her mind is filled with all kinds of thoughts. I will call her later to see if she's alright. I know that I'm alive. I am alive. And the smell emanating from the passenger seat keeps reminding me of that.

A midnight walk on a dark street in Gig Harbor. Million dollar homes all around me. None of them accessible. Everything about them says, "fuck off". Then someone that lives where I live, in the cheap part of town, saved me. There is a lesson in there somewhere.