Seven Minutes on a Tuesday Morning

"Hey!"
 
It's 8:30 on Tuesday morning, and I'm walking back up to the front of the building.  My step seems a little off...must not be fully awake, yet.  Down the long, straight walkway...

"Jer!"

I hear some scampering and clanking behind me.  As I begin to turn around, anticipation overcomes me.  Thoughts start racing.  I know it's Dan behind me, and I know he's pushing a dolly.  The clanking gets louder, and I realize it's not just the dolly.  The decaffeinated gears starting to turn in my head are adding to the noise...

"Ho!"

What could he need?  Did something get messed up?  My morning had been going so well, too.  The only snafu was forgetting my vanilla Nugo bar, which has become my staple mid-morning second breakfast.  On days when I only eat some granola or cereal before I leave, the Nugo is necessary.  Necessary like seeing Return of the King, after watching Fellowship and Two Towers.  This morning, I made an omelet with avocado and zucchini.  Nugo trumped.  Necessity non-existent.  Back to the Future: Part III status.

"Whoa, whoa!"  Dan stops a couple feet from me.  The dolly keeps sliding, grinding to a quick halt on the concrete floor.  He's all out of breath, and I'm thinking he may just be the first api employee to break into four-minute mile territory.  Or, even seven.  His legs are all jittery.  "You gotta take a look at this!".  Stacked on the dolly are a bunch of white boxes with unfamiliar labeling.  They all say "Baby Powder" on the side.  His head's spinning around.  I'm still puzzled.

After a few more deep breaths, he explains that they are refills for the auto air-freshening units on the bathroom walls.  The things that go "hisssss" every two minutes and never fail to make you ask yourself, "What was that?", like you've never heard it before.  Restaurants stopped putting them near sinks, because 80% of the time you'd walk in, you'd see someone between the ages of seven and thirty-five standing on the counter spraying themselves in the face, so they could smell like pineapples or something.  To their credit, it's probably more fun than gorging yourself on all-you-can-eat breadsticks.  You know, the ones that taste terrible.

Dan begins to point out the unobvious.  Our normal supply of baby powder-scented aerosols has been infiltrated by a new, unfamiliar scent: "Super Dooper".  I am now awake.  The name of this chemical scent is so non-descriptive.  My interest is piqued.  Dan, thinking I may want to have the box returned, looks a little super doopered himself when I tell him to keep it and get it into rotation immediately.  I want to know what this stuff smells like.

Never being one to wait patiently for an outcome, I go back to my desk and immediately start Googling "super dooper".  It's like reading the plot of a film on wikipedia, while at the theater.  The previews haven't even started, yet.  I know the winner of The Hunger Games, and that new aerosol is still in the box.

Results: inconclusive.  All over the board.  It's either going to smell like potpourri or soy.  Maybe Dr. Suess.  Chances are likely it'll smell more like baby powder than the real "baby powder".

Unsatisfied and knowing I'll have to wait a few more days, I close Google and stretch my arms.  It's 8:37.  Time to carpe diem.