The Clinging Chocolate Death Stench

Despite all indications published through this outlet, I very much enjoy my job. On a scale of 1 to 10, 5 being merely acceptable and 10 being an unbeliveable dream job, I think this position is a 7.75. That's pretty good. I'm high-strung, though, so things get to me. Even a 7.75 job has its drewbacks.

Here's one that all employees of this company have to deal with. It's a smell. The factory itself smells wonderful; in fact, one of the comments I overhear most often in the building's public restrooms is "Gosh, it smells so great in here!" People say this in repsonse to the pungent smells of molten chocolate that permeate the premesis, and not in response to the huge craps that I take; the chocolate overpowers the craps.

So the general smell while you are present is nice. But there's a take-home smell, a hidden smell. There's a technical explanation for it (the grinding of the cacao nibs releases the residual aceitc acid that proliferates during the cacao beans' fermentation), but all you really need to know is that people who enter this factory and stay in it for over two hours leave stinking like sweaty gym socks. Like that and a nursing home--like slowly rotting sour death.

These vapors attach themselves to textile items, in particular: denim, wool, and fleece are all especially subject. I come home and try to put some love on Mr. Bir Toujour, but he rejects my advances. "Phew!" he'll say. "You stink!"

I do. There's no getting around it. This wonderful-smelling building actually smells like hell, not heaven. I wear this one gray fleece hooded zip-up thing all week long to work, and the smell piles up on it in layers. It stinks like a homeless man by the middle of the week. I'm about to go pick my Mom up from the airport, and I'm very excited. But before she greets me with a hug, my stench will greet her from a distance.