Tell me something: Have you ever rolled down your window at a gas station to catch some hot whiffs? While pumping gas have you ever spilled a few drops on your shirt for some free take-out smell? Baby, I know you’re with me. Because you know that the smell of gasoline is one of life’s simplest pleasures.
Now, I know a lot of people out there seem to think the smell of gasoline ain’t great for your brain. They insist you’re fritzing out all your head circuitry with these evil airborne hydrocarbons, the equivalent of releasing a sack of rats into the restaurant kitchen or pouring a can of Coke into your laptop air vent. And you know what? Maybe they’re right. I do fully agree that huffing gas fumes is really bad for you. That’s really not debatable. But the regular ol’ smell of gasoline just lingering around the fillup station? I say the jury’s still out on that one.
Now, don’t get me wrong: I have no idea why, when my dad pulled our old wood-paneled station wagon up to the Shell pumps, I’d love to get out and take a giant sniff of that hot, gassy air. But I know I did. Maybe I felt a bit like a woodsman stepping out of his cabin holding a cup of coffee, a baker pulling a tray of fresh, hot croissants out of the oven, or a wine tester swirling a big fat glass of Merlot before the big sniff. Maybe for a kid growing up in the suburbs the smell of gasoline at the local pumps was the same sort of deal. Just one of those great smells of life. A smell that says something about who you are. Something about where you come from. Something… about what you believe in.