The Smell Of Disaster

I had just arrived at Chapel Hill, and my bank account had been the fullest it’s ever been. That is, it had four beautiful digits and enough money for me to not grit my teeth with anxiety when the teller asked me if I wanted a receipt. I was in my ambitious mode. Classes hadn’t started yet, my bank account was full, and I had elaborate plans to be a superhero who could balance the schoolwork I hadn’t received yet, the friends I hadn’t made yet, and the job I hadn’t been offered yet.

So, I applied for a work-study job at a historical institute on campus.

After submitting my impressively composed résumé and a cover letter that permeated with likability, I was offered an interview. I had realized I had no nice clothes for it, so I decided to wear khaki (never cargo) shorts and a nice Ralph Lauren Polo shirt. It was approximately 135°, including humidity. My back-sweating problem was in full effect, but I wasn’t worried because I was wearing half a stick of deodorant and the Usher cologne my parents bought me at Kohl’s.

I get there, and after twenty minutes of waiting, I decide to sit down in the hallway because I’m tired and hot. Finally, in walks Shelby, the older woman who asked me to come in for an interview. (I’ll change her name, because I’m partially still afraid of her.) After burning a few holes in me with her grim stare, which served to silently admonish me for sitting on the floor, she invites me in her office.

I start off saying, “I’m sorry I’m not dressed that nice. I’m from New Jersey, and all my nice clothes are at home.” (Lie. I didn’t have any.)

She disregards it and starts going into the normal interview questions, all of which I answer rather effortlessly. She seems to be warming up to me. Then, she tells me I’ve made it passed the first step and sends me to meet the director of the institute. She, too, seems to like me. After answering her questions, I’m sent back to Shelby’s office, where I’m asked a few more questions about availability and hours.

Shelby steps out to briefly discuss with the director, and after tells me that they have decided to hire me. 1 for 1! I had been here only a few days and had already gotten a cool grown up-ish job. I started to think, ‘Maybe, my bank account will be more than $0.39 by the end of the semester.’ I thank her, and she calls me to come over on her side of the desk so we can both look on her double monitored computer. I kneel down, since I’m twelve feet taller than her, and look over her shoulder to see which days I’m available to work.

She tells me my shift starts at 8:30 am, which helps solidifying that she is, in fact, evil. But, it’s a job and I’m a broke college student.

As I point to the screen, she starts to violently cough. Her face turns white, and her eyes start to bulge like a bug-eyed dog. Her coughing won’t stop, as she quickly starts combing the room for water. She isn’t talking; she’s just pushing papers out of the way and coughing loudly.

“Where’s your water?” I ask, as if she wasn’t wondering that herself.

The coughing is persistent, and at this point she is bent over in her office chair. To both of our relief, she retrieves her water, thus silencing her coughing and very dramatic episode. A few moments go by and she regains her composure, wiping the amassing of water from her eyes. ‘Did I do something?’ I wonder.

Finally, she turns to me and says, “I forgot to tell you. I have a very hypersensitive nose. I can smell everything, and I get reactions from a lot of things. You can no longer wear whatever cologne you’re wearing, because it just triggered my hypersensitivity.”

Stepping away from her a little further to create as much distance as possible, I nod my head. “Oh, ok. Sorry…”

My Usher cologne had just given my new boss an allergic reaction. Wow.

“So, I’ll see you Monday?” she says cheerfully, as if nothing had happened.

“Yeah!” I say.

And as I walk out, I have a realization: that’s my favorite Usher song.

 

Written by Ryan Schocket