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  • Jacqueline Druga

From The Flash to ... The Flasher

Let’s start by saying that I can rock a cardigan. I am proudly part of the Mr. Rogers club. Sadly, there are some who can not. Now ... you may wonder what this has to do with my story. It actually has a little to do with it.

So I was working the hotel (Rather am, right now, as I write this). And I did my early shift stuff. Assess what needs done, make the coffee, meander and think about what I will write tonight. Shortly after midnight, I’m occupied staring at my huge bag of food. Yeah, I bring this huge bag of food because I can’t predict what I’ll be hungry for. Anyhow, I am staring into the bag trying to figure out what I and going to eat and what time I’ll eat it, when a man calls out, “Nice sweater.”

“Thanks,” I said and turned around.

He walks in and to the front desk. “Looks good on you.”

I tilt my head and like, ‘wow cool, a compliment.”

He is standing at the lower, wheel chair accessible portion of the desk and he sets down a large brown paper a bag. Keep in mind that portion of the front desk is very low.

The man, identifies himself as a food delivery driver (From a service like Grub hub, but it wasn’t Grub hub). We’ll call it Food Fast.

“I have an order for your hotel.”

I thought it odd, being so late, but I could smell the food. I told him I didn’t order and no one had informed me.

He said, “Well someone ordered and it’s paid for, so can you take it?”

“Sure,” I replied. “Leave it there.”

“No, no, company policy states I have to make sure the food is handed over.”

“Oh, okay.”

Yep. I fell for it. The guy looked harmless enough. In his fifties, gray jacket, white polo shirt. I walked over, lifted the bag (Which by the way had items in it) and when I did ...

Uh, hmm, how to say this ... well, his man parts were resting on the front desk.

I would have believed this to be part of his ‘indecent exposure’ routine, pretend to be a delivery guy, had the bag not been heavy. It had substance, he was actually delivering an order of food. Did he not think that maybe he could lose his job over this? Or perhaps he just thought I’d be so smitten with his man parts and grateful that there was no way I would turn him in.

I mean, there he was, all his glory, the elastic waist of his pants lowered to just under his man parts, propping them up like a mole resting on two joined, round pillows.

He was proud of it. He gave this smug look. While I just stood holding that bag, eyes shifting from his eyes to well, that party on my front desk.

Okay, look it’s not 1985 or even 1995. Who does this ‘flashing’ thing anymore? Really? It’s not a big deal. Not when man part’s are readily viewable 24/7 on the internet. Had he not heard that the new form of flashing is to send a ‘Richard pic’ via Facebook messenger or text?

I was about to school him, inform him that while I appreciated the effort, he had it all wrong. I mean we are from the same era, we don’t always get the ‘new way’ of things.

He was wanting a shocked reaction, maybe me to yell, “you bastard’ and I was bound and determined not to give one until ....


Okay that wasn’t him, that was the elevator. I was so in the moment (Okay that didn’t sound good) but I was so stuck on the ‘meet and greet’ on my desk, that the sound of the elevator along with Mack’s voice calling out, “Hey is that my food.” Scared me to the point I dropped the bag... on the desk and well...

Flash Man’s eyes widened and he hovered over some with this silent, yet almost heard, long, squeal, like air being released from a balloon.

“I’ll take that.” Mack, without missing a beat, grabs the bag, tosses down a five and heads back to the elevator.

A very strained, “Thanks’ came from Flasher man as he turned, man parts still out, and hand over them, made his way out.

“Mack!” I yelled out before the elevator closed. “Did you see that? Did you see his man parts?”

“Eh,” Mack waved out his hands. “I’m used to it. It’s his routine.. Probably thought you were Dante. I think he does it for him.”

The elevator closed and I immediately sought out Dante. “Hey, you didn’t tell me you had a serial flasher.”

“A what?” Dante asked confused.

“Serial flasher. Someone that comes in and exposes their man parts.”

“Ooooh, is that what that’s called. Yeah, Stan. Did I miss him. He gets me all the time.”

“What do you say to him when he does it?” I asked.

“Um .... “ Dante said. “Thanks?"

Thanks? Hmm. Anyhow, I don’t know if he’ll be back. I’m sure he will think twice about using a heavy bag of food behind his reveal.

I didn’t call the police, if they didn’t believe me about the car, they won’t believes the flasher. I did however pull out the Lysol and immediate clean that front desk.

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