“I am sick man…I am a spiteful man.”
Science says that smell is the closest sense linked to memory. I think it has something to do with the location in the brain. I’m not really sure, but I do know that you can read about it by clicking here.
Okay, maybe not there. But you don’t have to read about it anywhere because you know it. Because it has happened to you. Because you’re a human. The flood of memories that come with certain scents can be overwhelming.
I know this all too well. In fact, I am cursed. I am cursed because most of the scent-memory relationships in my brain are linked with people. This would all be well and good, but I can’t go through a single day without a barrage of completely worthless interactions rushing around in my head, playing out like little one-act waking nightmares.
Some samples:
My kindergarten teacher was a sweet old lady who played too much golf and lived with her best friend. While it would take us years to figure out that she was a lesbian, she was one of the nicest, purest people in the world. Her stench, however, was undeniable.
Scent: Greek Dressing and Eucalyptus
Present day consequence for me: I can’t eat feta cheese or go into a steam room without fighting the urge to recite the alphabet.
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My high school girlfriend was a hostess at an Italian restaurant. Teenage hormones were raging. It was a heated relationship, some would even say bi-polar.
Scent: Tomato sauce and garlic.
Present day consequence for me: I can’t eat a piece of pizza without my physiological response being that I am about to get into a fight about what movie to pick at Blockbuster, buy a birthday present at J. Crew and then go hook up in my car in the back of a driveway of a house that is under construction.
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When I was in 7th grade, my brother and I had a babysitter who smoked menthol cigarettes and had a very obnoxious laugh. She would always invite her boyfriend over, who was twelve years her senior, when my parents were out of town. He loved to make everyone really sloppy sandwiches and for some reason always used the condiments in our refrigerator that hadn’t been used in years. Then, we would all sit in the family room, have to watch whatever was on USA (they were obsessed) and listen to them talk about how one day they were going to have a destination wedding in Ireland.
Scent: Menthol cigarettes and gourmet mustard.
Present day consequence for me: I can’t go to a country music concert or enter a deli without the theme from Renegade thumping between my ears. If I actually consume mustard, a shrill cackle enters the back of my brain, leaps forth to the front of my head and I have apparitions of a leprechaun priest marrying a couple on the show Silk Stockings.
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This is but a sample of my disease. I assure you there are more. There are so many in fact that I wrote a book about them.
You can purchase it buy clicking here.
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