I smell things a lot. Sometimes it’s perfectly legitimate, like a perfume someone is wearing. Other times, it is something totally random that has no explanation, like a sudden whiff of socks followed by a spritz of wet umbrella, then it’s gone. Usually the question of, “Do you smell socks, Steven?” just prompts him to give me a quizzical look. Steven just attributes my hyperactive nose as more of my miniature eccentricities, and so do I, for that matter.
So, when I started catching the scent of something like baked beans when I got in Elliott, I didn’t think too much of it. I’ve tended to catch the odd scent from the air conditioning now and then. Sometimes the baked bean smell would drift more toward the wet sock area. It went back and forth for the next week or so. I started to contemplate replacing the air filter; it smelled like it needed it.
Wednesday afternoon, the baked beans and socks smell suddenly drifted into the ever-so-pungent scent of, well, dog shit. It was noticeable enough that I checked my shoes, then the floorboards, then the back of the car. “Wow, my brain must be on hyperdrive this afternoon,” I thought. One of life’s simple truths is one can’t truly be smelling dog shit if there are no turds to be found.
“Let’s go to Hastings,” Steven suggested later that evening. Ken was over and we had just finished watching the first new episode of Six Feet Under — last season, sigh! — and we were bored. As we head toward Elliott my memory sparks, and I informed them of the weird poop smell. “But I might just be going crazy,” I finished.
Steven opens one of the doors and immediately backs away with a “Whoa!” Ken could also smell it. I was so glad I wasn’t going crazy this time!
We backed Elliott out of the garage so we could commence the search for the stench’s source. After a checkover of the air filter, which turned out to be fine, we started searching inside the car.
Ken eventually won the Grand Prize: a very red, slightly squishy vine-ripened tomato, which had been in the car since two Thursdays previously. You can guess what it smelled like. Ken promptly threw his stinky Prize in the garage while I fetched the Fantastic.
I will be keeping better track of my free tomatoes from now on.