Isn’t it funny how you can smell something and it triggers a time of your life or the memory of someone or something? Don’t worry – the funny, profanity laden part will come…but first, let me illustrate:
I remember when I was pregnant with my first baby. My mom pampered me with a trip to one of those fru-fru smelly bath shops. It may have been the pregnancy
talking smelling, but my choice at the time was a fruity raspberry lotion/shower gel/body spray combo. I used it throughout the entire pregnancy and now, every time I smell raspberry fragrance, it reminds me of being pregnant and that comfy cozy feeling that I had when I was creating life.
On the flip-side:
When I was about 6 or 7, my mother married my step-dad. He was pretty hard core as far as being strict was concerned. We had fun and he loved me and all of that razzamatazz, but let me tell ya…we EARNED all of that fun stuff as the kids of the house.
There weren’t very many summer weekdays that would go by that you wouldn’t find us kids sitting in the sharp, piercing gravel picking weeds out of our incredibly never-ending driveway – rocks stabbing our butts and legs and hands. Gravel can kiss my ass. And so can weeds. Sometimes, we’d start at 9am and be there with flashlights in the dark picking weeds “inspection” after “inspection” only to not have accomplished the task we were given. I cried many a tear in that driveway – knowing that there was a swimming pool right next to us just BECKONING us to jump in was torture. And you know what? I’m 100% certain that when we were doing the landscaping for the house, he told the contractors NOT to put down weed barrier before they brought dumptruck after dumptruck into our expansive back yard…I think he knew there would be weeds. And I also think that he knew he had three ready-made slaves to do all of his bidding.
BUT THAT IS NEITHER HERE, NOR THERE. I’m building up the suspense of my most recent smell association, here. And you needed to get to know my dad a little bit before I let you know the real reason I started this post.
When I was about 12 or 13, my parents owned an automotive repair shop. I think they must have gotten broken into once or twice, to the point where they thought it would be a great idea to get a guard dog. We started off with Dobermans. They were alright, but then, my dad discovered the reliable and ever dangerous Rottweiler and the Dobie was sent off to a farm somewhere to chase rabbits, I assume.
We bought Spartacus. He was an adult Rott, pretty intimidating and the only real person he listened to was my dad. Spartacus would growl at me when we brought him home from time to time, and if you’ve never heard a Rottweiler growl? You should imagine a growly bear. Not only do they look like a grizzly bear…but they sound like one, too. They have 1500 pounds of jaw pressure – which was a selling feature for my dad. If someone was going to make it through the razor chain link fence to steal another car? They were going to get EATEN by a Spartacus. Plain and simple.
I remember one time, I walked by the kitchen table and Spartacus was sitting under there. As I walked by, he looked at me. Not like I was dinner, but like – “Hey, little girl. Give me a pat on the head!” So, being the lovey that I was, I bent over to give him a little pat and he instantly growled and that sunnuvabitch bit my BOOB. Okay – I really didn’t have boobs at that age…but things were changing and something was happening up there and he bit me. Made me bleed. At this point ol’ Spartacus had bitten all three of us kids and my dad decided it was time for Spartacus to go live somewhere else.
Are you keeping count here? That’s TWO guard dogs we’ve gone through in a rather short amount of time – probably a year.
Dad decided that it was time to start fresh and train up a guard dog the way he wanted it trained and it would start off as a family dog. He really liked the Rottweiler breed, so we stuck with it – only this time, we got a puppy. We named him Hercules.
Herc was the most precious little puppy and grew to be such a wonderful dog. We all loved him very much.
When we brought him home, we housed him in the garage. We started with a cardboard box and towels and a ticking clock to resemble the sound of his mothers heartbeat. My bedroom was just off of the garage and even though my brothers were probably more suited to handle the chore, it was my chore to keep the garage cleaned up. My dad showed me how he wanted it done. Once a week – usually on a Saturday, I’d clean everything out of the garage first. Clean up all the poop. Then I was told to hose it all out. Then I was to sprinkle Tide laundry soap all over the floor, scrub the floor with a brush, then rinse it out using the hose. Now – I don’t know if you’ve ever done something like this? But this task took LITERALLY 8 hours to accomplish. I don’t know if I ever got the soap completely rinsed out of that garage – EVER. After the soap was pretty much rinsed out, I was supposed to splash Pine-Sol on the floor and brush it around and do a final rinse.
I hate that fucking smell. It makes me instantly gag. It’s disgusting. Their motto is, “The Scent of Real Clean”. I would have to disagree. Not only did I have to use that as the last and final cleaning of the garage, but my damn BEDROOM was right next to the damn garage. That damn smell would permeate through the entire area I lived in!! DAMMIT! (Enough damn’s for ya?)
You know what made me write about this today? No? WELL, LET ME TELL YOU! I manage an apartment complex. We have common areas here and I have some people that clean the entryways around here and they have always used Pine-Sol. And…when they use it, they have to fill up the mop bucket with hot water and Pine-Sol and wheel that shit through my motherfucking office. As if Pine-Sol weren’t bad enough – try heating that shit up with hot water!!! GROSS!!!!
One of the first changes I wanted to make when I took over managing this property was to move AWAY from using Pine-Sol to using Mr. Clean. That fresh lemony scent turns me ON, let me tell ya. Unfortunately, there are huge gallon jugs of Pine-Sol in the supply room and instead of wasting it or returning it, we’re using it up. They just rolled through here with a steaming bucket of that shit. They mopped the floor and returned the bucket and steaming Pine-Sol soaked mop to the supply room. It’s close to lunchtime and I didn’t bring anything to eat – but remembered I had bought a big box of microwave popcorn awhile ago, so I nuked some. The supply room is right next to my little kitchen. I started nuking that popcorn just as the phone rang, so I let the microwave do it’s magic and ran to answer the phone.
I just went to retrieve my piping hot bag of popcorn and when I walked back there – the smell hit me like a fucking TON OF BRICKS! Holy shit, y’all. It’s almost TOXIC back there. Nuked Popcorn + Steamy Pine-Sol Vapors = Oh. Mah. GAH!
I can’t wait until we use that shit up.