smelling like a stranger

While I don’t consider myself to be particularly loyal to any one brand, there are certain products I buy that only one specific brand will do. One of these things is deodorant. I’ve bought the same kind for so long that I’ve come to associate the scent of my deodorant as my scent. Coffee has a specific smell. Apple pie has a specific smell. And, thanks to Procter & Gamble, I have a specific smell.

Unfortunately, I am now experiencing a type of smell-identity crisis. For weeks, I have been unable to find my brand of deodorant in any store…and I’ve searched them all. From large chain drugstores to mom and pop grocery stores, I’m beginning to realize that my favorite deodorant is gone.

So I’ve been searching for a new brand. A new smell that I can associate with me. The old brand I bought had scents called ‘Fresh’ and ‘Sport’ and ‘Clean’, and these were smells that I could recognize. Who wouldn’t want to smell Fresh or Clean? And if I was going for a more athletic image one day, Sport was the perfect choice.

But when searching the deodorant shelf, instead of finding a Sport and Fresh scent, I found ones with perplexing names. Names like Phoenix and Clix. I had no idea how a Clix would smell…in fact, I wasn’t even sure what a Clix was. I was equally confused as to what a Phoenix would smell like. Burnt ash, perhaps? Unsure, I discretely pulled of the lid and took a whiff…though this didn’t help. Was Clix more ‘fresh’ smelling than Phoenix? And were either of them as fresh as my old ‘Fresh’ scent was?

I continued to move down the aisle and found a deodorant that had an ‘Arctic Blast’ smell. While this made more sense to me than a Clix or Phoenix smelling deodorant did, I was still confused. Arctic Blast sounded more like a breath mint than a deodorant, and I was quite certain that I didn’t want my breath to smell the same way that my arm pits did.

In the end, I chose a deodorant with a scent called ‘Pulse’ because I thought it smelled most like my now defunct brand of deodorant, though I couldn’t be certain that this was true. Having sniffed so many varying brands of deodorant, my nasal passages had been over saturated and over deodorized, causing everything to begin smelling exactly alike.

The following day, fresh from my shower, I applied my new Pulse deodorant. Later that morning, while sitting in my cubicle at work, I lifted my cup of coffee to take a drink and thought I smelled someone within my sniff-zone…or close enough to detect a foreign smelling person. Not a stink-smell, but a different smell. I looked around to see who was standing nearby and saw that I was alone. I realized that the different smelling person I had gotten a whiff of was me.

Upon realizing this, I knew that I would be stopping after work to buy new deodorant. Because how could I live with myself when I smelled like a stranger?

revived archives

Entry: October 21, 1993 from my ficticious diaries

I found myself sitting at a table in a dingy little restaurant near campus with a soft drink and burger sitting in front of me. Things were hazy as to how I ended up there.

The evening started off with a group of us heading out. A friend of a friend knew somebody in their Econ class who was having a huge, post-midterm party. I remember walking the few blocks to get there…several drinks…and then things became blurry.

Through my alcoholic haze, I could see my friend Jim over by the jukebox, most likely looking for the most annoying song contained within…which he would then select multiple times. His crowning glory was when he found an old Perry Como record in a biker bar’s jukebox a few months prior during the thick of summer. After a mere 15 seconds into the song Winter Wonderland, the bartender yanked the plug.

I turned my attention back to the burger sitting in front of me. Because the table was curiously tilting back and forth, I carefully reached across for the ketchup bottle. I lifted the bun off of my burger and saw that the positioning of the pickles on the patty made it look like my burger was staring up at me.

I poked at it. My mind wasn’t too sharp and thoughts were coming slowly, as if working their way through a thick layer of maple syrup. My burger lay flat upon the plate, staring up at me…and it looked as if it had something to say.

I slowly realized that this was ridiculous…the absurdity of this finally emerging through the molasses swamp that was flooding my brain. Burgers don’t have mouths, I thought, and therefore can’t speak. I was pleased with myself that, even in my current state, I was still able to conger such astute observations. So I carefully gave my burger a ketchup smile.

I placed the bun back on top and lifted the burger to take a bite when I heard someone say “psst.” I looked around to see who was trying to get my attention. Jim was still reviewing the song selections on the jukebox and all the other patrons seemed engaged in their own conversations, paying no mind to me.

“Psst…” I heard again, and glanced down at my burger. Was my meal trying to tell me something? It sure seemed like it was staring at me earlier with those large pickle eyes…and maybe now that it had a mouth it was trying to impart some important information.


“What is it?” I slurred. And as I slowly bent down, resting my ear upon the bun, I could have sworn that I heard my meal whisper these four tiny words to me.

No. Tequila. Ever. Again.