Friday, December 09, 2011

Masked and Dangerous

I had begun to understand Erica Reitz's plight in her first trimester. I had begun to know the knee jerk reaction of gagging and choking at the strange smell that sometimes hit me in my apartment. The smell had become a legitimate problem: when the fridge door opened, a smell would drift out and quietly murk its way down the hallway and into the bedrooms. It travelled a long distance and would stay for several minutes after the unoffending fridge intruder had closed the door again.

By last night, I had had enough.

I pulled out a box of "not wearing right now" clothes and found my old bandanas. I wrapped one around my face and with Melanie and Nicolle for back up, I went in.

Even with protection from the bandana, it was a gruesome affair. I viciously sentenced many jars and bags to an untimely death in the trash can. I scrubbed all the walls with clorox. All items were removed and placed back in only if they could pass a smell test. Nicolle handed me paper towels. Mel helped organize things I had chucked behind me.

And still the smell persisted.

The decision to throw away almost all items in tupperware containers was the decision that changed the game.

Black beans, it would seem, do not keep well.

The smell as the lid was removed was catastrophic. I fell over and tried not to breathe through my nose. I yelled, "Get it out!" and Nicolle ran with the bag to the door and out to the dumpster. I felt the need to cheer and celebrate.

"A small miracle has happened: I was just motivated to do housework!" I said.

The moral of the story: don't wait for a smell in the fridge to gain feet and wander around your house before you viciously end its life with the trashcan and clorox.

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