Can you smell that smell?

Lots of summer vacations invariably mean fewer people at work. As a result, fewer people are commuting to work. As a result of that, I usually drop my T pass in July and August and take advantage of mostly breezy drive to/from Boston. This also means I can take E to school in the morning. Win/sort of win for everyone. So it was this week that Monday morning I drove E to school. Monday afternoon I got in my car, baking in the sun in the southie parking lots and noticed a distinct funk. That in and of itself is not unusual. I have old socks, golf shoes, and maybe even a wet umbrella somewhere in the back of the subie. I rolled down the windows and drove on home. Tuesday morning the funk was there but it was a different funk, more potent, juicier. Another few minutes with the windows open and the smell was mostly gone. When I got to the parking lot, I peeked in the windows to see if there really were old shoes and socks in the cargo area. No such luck. Mystery smell out of sight, out of mind. Tuesday afternoon was a different story. Definitely riper. Heavier, stickier. I dug around in the back seat – maybe an old milk cup of E’s was back there. Nothing. Wednesday morning, same deal. Some unpleasantness but the night’s cool seemed to keep things down somewhat. Wednesday afternoon was so bad, I could smell it before I got to the car. But how was this possible? No way a car could smell so bad that it could be detected from 5 feet away. This had to be a low tide and a dead whale out in the harbor, an ill wind blowing dumpster rot in my direction. The subie was not the culprit, it just couldn’t be. The inside kicked like a billy goat, a wet filthy billy goat smoking a dung cigar and wearing dirty diapers for shoes. It was eye watering. I got out of the car, opened all the doors, got on my hands and knees searching for roadkill in the wheel wells. Nothing. Another drive home with the windows mostly open. Thursday morning, I could once again smell the car before I got to it. I put E in his car seat and he started crying, which is not unusual, but the stank. Good god the stink. It was exponentially worse. The stink of a thousand squashed squirrels baking in the sun, the reek of a medieval sewer, the pungent tang of the hippie commune outhouse. I couldn’t take it.  Then something caught my eye. A plastic bag, like you get with groceries, winked at me from behind a storage tote I keep in the back of the car. Hmm. I don’t know what could be in that bag. Wait a minute, we went grocery shopping Sunday. We got ground turkey for tacos. The cashier asked if I wanted it in plastic. I said yes. I unloaded the car and put away the groceries. I do not recall seeing the ground turkey in the fridge these past 4 days. Oh no. I have had a pound of ground turkey festering in the back of the car, in the heat of summer, for 4 days. Has it leaked everywhere like an abandoned mafia execution? No it hasn’t. It was heat sealed in a nice Styrofoam box. There was no seepage. I considered taking a picture. The possibility of a projective reversal of cinnamon toast crunch was high. I thought better of it. I just grabbed it, ran for the dumpster and chucked it in. Problem solved. E stopped crying. Thursday afternoon the stink was gone. Good times.