Today I spent some time in a public restroom that had an interesting smell. I don’t say interesting like I’m my grandma talking about Chinese food or Chinese people or the idea of China. I say interesting because it took me a return visit to the same bathroom to figure out what the phantom scent was:
That’s right, the unmistakably candy-smooth smell of an All-American classic. It wasn’t a vague reminder of it, like a firefly of youth, but heavy in the air, dense as a San Francisco fog outside a fog machine factory. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t find it to be a bad smell, it’s actually kinda nice, just not near a toilet. Maybe I’m crazy, but I don’t like associating food with two-ing, not to mention the inherent danger of doing so.
What’s going to happen if I condition my body to go when it smells soda? Will I two my pants anytime someone opens a can nearby?* Will the gentle crackle of fizz loose my lower tract? Will the sweet memory of root beer fill not only my heart but my pants with warmth?
I suppose only time will tell.