The Day I Stunk Up the Train Station

Not to fear. This blog isn't about, um... what you think it is. If that's what you're thinking. This is a story of stupidity, a tale of a wrong choice made wronger. Or should I say, stanker. But come closer, gather around, and follow along with me as I relate to you this little diddy.

[Flashback]
It all began on that fateful day many moons ago when my belov-ded said to me, as I was making ready to adieu to my work, "My dear, my love, please taketh upon thyself to carry the trash to yon dump. It doth stinketh. A lot. Verily."

And so I gathered the trash up, tightened it's little tightener thingies into a tight little knot, gagged, heaved, and wretched, kissed my wife and children, tossed the noxious bag into the trunk of my Honda Accord, and was on my merry way to the town dump.

But you see, we had just moved into our new home. And so I did not know when the dump did openeth. I thought the dump would be open for business, surely, by the time I arrived at 7:30 AM.

All together now, "Do you think the dump was open at 7:30 when I arrived?"

No, the dump was not open at 7:30 when I arrived! And so I thought to myself, "If they are not open at 7:30, they will probably not be open until at least 8:00, at which point I will be late for work."

Harken unto my words, dear reader. There are times in life when you come to a crossroads, an intersection, if you will. A place where a choice must be made, for better or worse, and turning back is not an option. At least not in this case, because if I went back home I would also end up being late. And so, dear reader, I made the only choice I could.

I would take my trash with me.

And so on my merry way I went, down to the North Springs MARTA station, whereupon I parked my car in the parking garage, laden with its oderiferous cargo, and ventured forth to board the next southbound train. I quickly forgot my nefarious deed. Until, that is, I stepped off the elevator into the MARTA parking garage that afternoon.

"Wow! What is that smell? This place reeks! Man, somebody needs to call MARTA and do some serious complainin'! And they need to do some splainin'!"

And also, "My goodness!"

Tears formed in my eyes, but through my clouded vision I noticed that the green cloud blanketing the cars on that level, was coming from... my car! My car!

I was, of course, quite incredulous. How in the world would it be possible for a trunk full of trash to stink up the place? I mean - it was only one bag, right? There were only a few little old maggots and fruit flies, and it was leaking just a little bit, not even so's you'd notice, and certainly not enough for this level of stank. I mean, c'mon!

"Be cool," I told myself, trying to be nonchalant as I sauntered to my car through the haze. "Everybody takes their trash to work. Yeah. Yeah! This kinda thing happens all the time!"

It's amazing how fast a trunk full of stank trash can transform a nice little Honda Accord into a hoopty. I was parked on an upper level of the garage, so I had to drive around and around, slowly circling down through the levels, spreading my good cheer behind me like one of those mosquito fogger trucks. Finally I arrived at the automatic gate where you insert your parking ticket to raise the gate. As soon as I pulled up, the cloud that I had been pulling along behind my car caught up with me, and my eyes tried to cross.

Somehow I managed to insert my ticket without breathing, and I sped through the gate in my new stank-nasty hoopty mosquito-fogger mobile. Believe me when I say, that was the last day I stunk up the train station.