| Neil Diamond and Barbara Streisand - You don't bring me flowers .mp3 | ||
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Something I'd never thought to do, but that is apparently important, is to smell things when buying them used. Clothing, of course. But even things you wouldn't expect -- like tennis balls.
I went to a sporting goods store to search for a couple of tennis balls to put inside a sock that I would then tie up and put underneath my neck to give myself a neck massage by sort of rolling around on it on the ground. A masseuse recommended this at one point. She said something to the effect of, "Replace me with tennis balls."
In the store, I noticed a definite stench at the used tennis ball bin. I didn't quite know what to make of it, but I (wrongly) assumed that if I just grabbed a couple of balls and went on my way, the stench would not come with me.
I tossed the bag containing the balls into my backseat and drove across the street to the Salvation Army to purchase a couple of pairs of tan pants for work. My boss has been telling me to do this for about four months. Here I was focused entirely on two things: size and stainlessness. These two parameters met to my satisfaction with two pairs of tan slacks, I went on my way.
I first noticed a problem when taking the tennis balls out of the bag. I was hit with a wave of a smell I could not quite place. At first I thought, "Damn, disgustingness." I smelled it again to make sure it was as horrible as I initially thought. I reasoned, "Sweaty gym bag."
I placed both tennis balls, although it seemed only one was problematic, in some soapy water in my sink. I realized (as I suppose I have had experience with before) that tennis balls float in water and that this creates problems when attempting to wash them. Always the problem solver, I determined that I would periodically rotate the tennis balls in the water so that all sides would get decontaminated.
To my horror, the smell became worse, like a wet dog. I started to identify with the smell a little bit, feeling somehow responsible for it since I had purchased the problem tennis ball. I had to keep reminding myself that the smell was not my doing -- that though I did own the tennis ball, I did not have to claim the smell as my own.
As I thought about wet dogs, I came to my final conclusion: halitosis. Canine halitosis. A dog had had that tennis ball in its mouth, a dog that had probably been eating its own feces. Awesome.
I pulled my pants out of the bag, at this point generally wanting a respite from stenches. No such luck. Another odor of bodily fluids stole into my nostrils. Acridity. Urine. Really, urine? Well, yeah, some people piss their pants, and one of those people used to own these ones. Not cool, dude, but I guess that's what (among other things) washing machines are for.
Over the next 24 hours, I repeatedly smelled the tennis ball and the pants. Canine halitosis and urine? Yes and yes.
All is well though now -- Once dry, the tennis ball seemed somewhat improved; now held within the confines of a thick sock, it cannot hurt me anymore. The tan pants, tested with the to-do list item, "Smell crotch of tan pants once washed," now smell like industrial laundry solvent.
Lessons like this are good and bad I guess. Now I will be the guy walking through the yard sale, inhaling everything, and possibly learning a little more about the guy behind the card table. Really, fecal matter on a board game? As I investigate once more, I will know the answer: no Parcheesi for me.
