THE SMELL OF DEATH

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Years ago, I read an article that said that coffee was the most recognizable smell in the world. To this day, the very notion of such an absurd statement makes me spit and froth and rant and carry on until most everyone leaves the room.

No, I have nothing against coffee. Love the stuff. Drink 10-12 pots a day. It bothers me because it is one of the factoids that gets passed on (thanks, Internet!) without folks stopping to analyze the comment and say, “Hey, guess what? There are probably some aborigines who can’t tell the difference between a cup of coffee and a cupcake. My guess is TONS of people have no idea what coffee smells like. But I guarantee you that, as unappealing as it may sound, there are two smells that are known the world over, and they aren’t something you drink for breakfast.”

While I will not get into one of the smells (let’s not get grosser than it has to be), the other smell that anyone on the planet can recognize is the wretched smell of death. And I certainly recognized it when it set up shop recently in my garage.

My wife was the first to notice the smell. She always notices smells. She smells things from miles away. She actually smells into the future. We were walking into the house from the garage when she stops right at the doorway to the kitchen. “Something’s dead.”

I have the sense of smell of a trombone, so I assumed she was telling me what was about to happen and began running.

When she finally collared me, she had me come back in and sniff around the garage with her. After a few deep whiffs, the smell hit me. Oh, very dead indeed.

That evening, I set out to find the offending smell. We had pinpointed the smell to one wall of the garage, where there is a shelf with 405,000 boxes of craft supplies next to my tool chest, which contains lots of tools I do not know how to use. Our garage is a waiting room for projects that will never happen.

I grabbed a flashlight and began shining back behind the shelf, under the toolbox, etc., hoping to find, I don’t know, a giant dead manatee or something. I looked and looked and could not find anything. But I had given it an earnest effort, so it was time to go to bed and see if this would simply take care of itself and go away. Basically, I took the same approach I do with computer and health issues.

The next morning, the smell had not gone away but had, in fact, grown. It was becoming a powerful presence. I had to locate the smell. It had to be taken on and defeated.

So that evening (I do all my work in the evening; YOU trying to shuffle a garage around with a 2-year-old and 4-year-old as helpers), I decided to search until I found the smell. I got up as close as I could and took deep whiffs. When I got near the edge of the shelf, it hit me hard. I realized that the support posts of the shelf were hollow, and it appeared that the smell was coming from there. Thinking I had ID’d the problem, I shined a flashlight down in the tube, which is about five feet high. Sure enough, something was down there.

I told my wife that I had located the smell, and that it appeared to be in the shelf. “What is it?” she said.

I told her I didn’t know.

“Is it a bird? A mouse?”

Apparently she thought I was lying to her. “Seriously, I have no idea. I’m going to find out and get rid of it.”

“I hope it’s not a baby bird.” Species aren’t exactly equal in her eyes.

I began to take all of the boxes off of the shelf so that I could turn it upside down and empty out the carcass. I was down to a few items, when I grabbed a small, boring little unnoticed bowl sitting on the shelf. I took a step away from the shelf when BAM! Smell came with it. And it came with a vengeance. I looked down at the bowl and saw that there were two nicely painted hard-boiled eggs. “Allie” one said. “Easter” said another. You do the calendar work there.

Steadying my stomach, I delivered the bowl to a trash bag and quickly got rid of the whole thing (let’s hope my neighbor doesn’t have a reason to look on top of his tool shed). But while I felt I had solved the mystery of the smell, I still wondered about the dead little something down in the shelf. Fortunately, no baby birds were harmed. And, despite my wife’s indifference, no mice were, either. Rather, it was a dried up leaf that, down in the depths of the tube resembled a carcass and, with its close proximity to the eggs, seemed to fit the bill.

But at least the smell of death is now gone from my garage, and I can focus on more important things. Like not getting around to those projects.