The Smell

Inevitably, when I introduce myself, someone will look at me with a deep, confused expression. They will look me up and down, and after much thought, politely say (almost as a correction, because surely they heard wrong), "You know, in Spanish, linda means pretty..." To which I reply that yes, I know. I am very much aware of that AND the irony.

I totally understand their perplexed look. I am sure that, if my parents could go back, they would change my name to something a bit more appropriate.

Such as: Personalidad (Spanish for 'personality')
Such as: Høj (Danish for 'tall')
Such as: Potius (Latin for 'embarrassing')
Such as: Meinung (German for 'opinion') 

But today, I feel like the most accurate name given to yours truly is Idiot (English for 'complete and total moron'). This is not a quest for pity or sympathy, but it is a warning to all of you: I am an idiot.

(The first step in recovery is recognition.) 

Now, I know all of you are saying,"Why have you only just now come to this conclusion? We've known for years!!" But please, allow me to explain. 

I live in one side of a duplex with 4 other girls. I love where I live. I love my neighborhood. I love my huge private room. The only thing I do not love is my roommates' collective inability to make our home UNATTRACTIVE to the enemy: Rodents. Pests. Bugs. Weird boys.  

Those of you who know me best, or at all, understand that I. Do. Not. Like. Animals. But. ESPECIALLY. NOT. RODENTS. Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty better pass on by my house when they need a place to stay. Just saying. 

So you can imagine my horror when, upon arriving home very late Saturday night, I opened the door to my very clean room and smelled essence of ANIMAL DEATH. 

I recognized that Smell. 

It was The Smell of my childhood: the pungent Smell of the dead deer head from the neighbor's yard that always wafted over the fence and destroyed my outdoor experience. #smalltownrednecks

It was The Smell that seeps through the car vents as you pass over what was once a cat on the side of the road. 

It was that dreaded, awful, rotting Smell of DEATH and DECAY and DISASTER, which is exponentially worse because the producer is Animal.

Clean air is very precious to me. I do not tolerate gross air (caused by smoking, pollution, chemicals...) very politely. 

In fact, my not-so-secret-but-dearest-ambition is to spend my days attacking smokers and 
particularly polluting cars with a portable fire-hydrant-like water gun. Such will be my contribution to society.

That MY BEDROOM, which I vacuum weekly/bi-weekly and regularly bathe in bleach and peppermint oil, REEKED WITH THIS MAGNITUDE OF GROSSNESS was nearly enough to cause a nervous breakdown for yours truly.

I took out my sniffer. Feeling like Trusty, I sniffed every corner of my room, every nook and cranny, trying to pinpoint The Smell source. 

photo cred: The Internet

But it was the weirdest thing. The Awful Smell was most awful in midair, right above my bed. Not on ANY surface, just in the air...floating around... destroying my sanity... 

Now I am not a canine when it comes to spotting smells. All of my senses (sight, smell, taste, hearing, etc...) 
are about as acute as Granny's on the Beverly Hillbillies. But I swear, that is the truth. 

My room was spotless. Everything was in order. So there was clearly only one explanation, since my hygiene and general obsession for cleanliness in my room were not at fault. 

Explanation A: There was a dead rodent somewhere in my walls*. And it obviously was attracted there by my roommates' terrible trash-storage habits**.  

*A thought that caused me major panic.

**A story for a later date.

Sub-point A.1) This abrupt heat wave along the Wasatch Front caused whatever rodent a) was stupid enough to crawl into my walls and b) subsequently had the nerve to DIE there to Smell VERY bad. And as such, my room-air was unbreathable. 

If ever there was a reason to call 2319, this was it.

This explanation led me to consider possible solutions:

1. Burn the duplex to the ground. Leave town permanently.
2. Contact Landlord about The Smell problem. Abandon all possessions. Leave town permanently.
3. Leave town permanently by volunteering to travel as the first human to Mars, wherein there are no rodents.

After complaining (like I do, because I am a total whiner) to everyone I know about the problem, and quickly blaming everyone else, I generated a lot of sympathy. My ego stroked, I was barely able to endure the next few days, which (whenever I was in my room) consisted of soaking all surfaces in vinegar, essential oils, and bleach.

Still, The Smell persisted.

Last night, as I was going through my "food storage" shelf (i.e. my 8 pounds of dried herbs and enough food to MAYBE last about 3 days), I discovered a dark spot. Tracing up the spot, I found a dark trail. Tracing up the trail, I found the organic aquifer from which The Smell originated.

This photo was taken outside in the dead of night: such was my shame.
I did not want the roommies to find out. Nor will they ever, unless they stumble upon this blog. 

It is a potato.
A very old potato.
A very old, very dead, very rotten potato.

I definitely am the person who put it in my "food storage" area. It was there, in plain site, contaminating my room. How did I miss it? Why on earth was it there? 
Ah, dear readers, we have come full circle: I'm an idiot. 



And, by the way, The Smell disappeared precisely 25 seconds after The Potato's eviction.
Another problem solved (and caused) by dear Linda. Or should I say Potius? I should really get going on that name change...