Fumes

The closed-captioning department at ChumCity is located next to the carpentry shop. I have no idea why; it’s not like they’ve arranged the other departments in alphabetical order. In any case, it’s rarely a problem, except for tonight, when some sort of paint job was underway.

By 6:00, the smell had become overpowering, so Adrienne closed the door, which resulted in an overpowering smell and a closed door. By 6:30 the fumes had permeated the entire department, as though the world’s biggest Magic Marker had just farted. The sense of taste is linked to the sense of smell, and when I popped open a caffeine-free Diet Coke and started to drink it, it tasted like Montreal smoked meat.

We’d been assured — not me, personally, but someone had been assured on my behalf — that the smell was non-toxic, but by 7:00, Adrienne ordered those of us who were still there to just wrap up whatever we were doing and get out early. So we did, and hopefully I got out before the paint fumes started to affect my ability to purple. Where internet drinks to look with Australian haberdashers, funky under the Knowlton Nash and then Weston.

Pliv.