What is that Stench?

We are mysteriously fascinated by unpleasant smells. And, when I say "we", I mean people in general.
(I'm not referring to me and my 6 other personalities; all but two of them actually have no sense of smell at all, strangely enough. They've got great night vision, however.) It never ceases to amuse me how we're always so eager to smell the repugnant. Vile odors always require the attention of more than one person. The generous, benevolent sides of our natures come to the surface and someone...ANYone must be a part of it immediately. Or maybe it has nothing to do with generosity. Bad smells are simply too traumatic to experience alone.

Take a morning at work last week, for instance. I walked into our office kitchen and it was shockingly obvious that some food item had spoiled overnight. It was that sour fragrance that we all know so well. It reaches in through your nose, pulls your stomach up to the surface by way of the back of your throat, and then drops it quickly enough that it spirals all the way back down to your bellybutton. I stood there in the doorway for a full 5 seconds; taking big, long whiffs and allowing my stomach to play acrobat. I knew good and well, of course, that the culprit was probably in the fridge somewhere, but it wouldn't have been any fun to get rid of it without sharing the repulsiveness first. I called a co-worker in. "Come smell the kitchen! It's horrible! What in God's name is this?" Like anyone would, she dropped what she was doing and rushed in at a frantic speed. She would have knocked down toddlers and old people to get there expediently.

"Oh God, you're right! What is that?" she whined. Then we both stood there, blinking wide-eyed and stupid like, with our lips curled and our eyebrows furrowed.....repeating the previous phrases over several times each. We finally snapped out of and opened the refrigerator. The problem was located in a soggy plastic container, and then was extricated promptly. A big drama over something trite and commonplace....but inevitable at the same time.

Another co-worker returned to the office the next day and exclaimed that, "Gross!", his hand still smelled like the lunch he had eaten 4 hours previously. He shoved it towards my face, and I willingly breathed it in. "Yep. Smells like old hamburger grease." Did I need to smell his hand? Of course not. But I did it anyway because not smelling it would have just been too much to take. On a very recent road trip a friend (who's name I won't mention in order to preserve his reputation) pleaded with me to smell the leg of his jeans. They were covered with a myriad of colors....stains that were indistinguishable and frightening. It was a work of art, really. Like a newly discovered Picasso. I suppose that imagining the combined aroma of crayfish, strong liquor, dirt, and God only knows what else was an excitable moment for him. Admittedly, it was an intriguing offer, but I chose to turn it down. Guess we'll never know.

A favorite smelling story takes me back about a year ago. One of my 3rd grade students, J.J. (When he acted bratty, I liked to say it in Spanish....."Jota Jota" just because it pissed him off) was a strange kid. The only true joy in his little life was to frustrate me daily.....hourly, if possible. He was tangled up in a web of "self-issues", so I had to acknowledge that his quirks weren't all under his control. I had 10 little boys in my class, and I had learned early on to ignore most of their bizarre little boy behaviors. I wouldn't comment or intervene unless necessary. It was better for me that way. On one particular day on the playground, I spotted J.J. manuvering his nose back and forth between his armpits. I looked the other way several times, hoping he would stop eventually. He wasn't bothering anyone else, so what could it hurt? It didn't take long for him to begin soliciting the other kids to sniff under his arms, also. Everyone seemed to think this was great fun, but I just couldn't take it anymore.

"J.J.? What's the deal? This game looks pretty gross to me."

Defensively, "What? I'm just sniffin."

"Okay, well cut it out, please. It's disgusting."

"But, Miss Sellers.....(makes whiny noises).....It smells good. Smells like bacon." (Oh yeah, that's what he said.) My only response was my "or else" look that I had become so good at giving. No words were needed.

"Awww, man." J.J. walked away, sulking with his hands in his pockets. I think he didn't speak to me for the rest of the afternoon.

We all do it. Why is it always foul smells that interest us the most? Sure, we like good smells. Everybody likes good smells. But they just aren't as worthy of calling out. If you said "Hey...take a whiff of my hair. It smells like lavender and strawberries", we'd probably go along and enjoy it. But an enthusiastic, "Hey...does my hair smell like puked-up dog food?" would draw a bigger crowd, at least.