Ringo’s Big Adventure

(Chapter 12)

Scratch-n-Sniff

by Dallas Doctor

 

You know what hasn’t been invented yet?

A way to record smells!

Yes, I know Ruth Gordon had “Oder-ifics” way back in 1971’s Harold and Maude but I think Bud Cort was merely acting when he said he could smell “Snow Fall on 42nd street.”

Yes, I also know about perfume and all about scratch-n-sniff.  In fact, I was even in a band that made a record way-back in the 1980s entitled “This Band Stinks” and we thought it was hilarious that we included a scratch-n-sniff sticker on the final packaging of the album (true story).  It actually stunk when you rubbed it.  But just like perfume, it wasn’t a recorded smell (in the sense of being encoded and/or decoded like the way we record sounds or images); it was actually real-life sulfur molecules (S₈) that were being released when the consumer disturbed the surface of the sticker.  That’s essentially what perfume is as well. It’s like sealing a little chunk of dog-shit in a Tupperware container and claiming you’ve recorded the smell of dog-shit.

Nobody’s figured out yet how to turn digital code into odour.  I’ve read that Japanese scientists are working on it.  They did accomplish it on an episode of South Park, but I’m fairly certain that as fictional as Harold & Maude.

But do you know who CAN selectively dispense odours on demand?

Ringo!

That’s right, Ringo can.

I only realized it yesterday: I was daydreaming and rather absent-mindedly rubbing Ringo’s ever-appreciative noggin, when, as I sometimes do, I engaged in a wee bit of idle conversation with him (don’t point and laugh at me; you do silly stuff too).  We were in the process of this harmless activity when I happened to glance up at the clock.

“Hey Ringo,” I casually announced, “guess what time it is: It’s time for a doggie-walk!” And when the word “doggie-walk” came out of my mouth, Ringo released an unmistakeable odour.  Woah?  And what an odour it was too!  It was NOT my imagination.  I did NOT hallucinate it.  We were in our bedroom with the door closed and there was nary a breeze, so the strange (and immediate) odour could only have come from Ringo.  It hadn’t been present at the beginning of the sentence (not in that sudden concentration anyway), and to me, it smelled like nasty dog.  I suspect that, to Ringo, it smelled like happiness.

I know what you’re going to say: “that’s not a recorded smell either; those are actual chemicals being released in the same way as dog-poop molecules finding their way to your nose when you open the Tupperware lid.” And I’m not going to argue with you about that.  I just think it’s cool that Ringo can release odours on command.  I wish I could do that. 

I’d really like to smell snow falling on 42nd street again.

 

 

 

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Please feel free to share this story in any way you consider appropriate.  This is part of a collection of simple short stories called: “Ringo’s Big Adventure” which is NOT to be confused with a similarly titled, but entirely different set of (hopefully) more-literary stories with the working title “Conversations Overheard While Traveling with Ringo” which are ONLY available to the awesome humans who are making these adventures possible.  Please visit patreon.com/dockity/overview to learn more… Thank You!   Sincerely, dockity.

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