I make frequent trips to the Porter Post Office in the afternoon. These trips have conjured up many intellectual questions, such as why is the line all the way out the door at 2:47, but nonexistent at 2:41? Why does the post office feel it has the privilege to close ten minutes early every day? Is it anyone’s job to clean the outside area by the P. O. Boxes? If you are curious why I ask, there is crinkled dead spider hanging in its own spiderweb by 809 that has been there since I started my job! His name is Milton. But the question that has been bugging me the most lately is: Why do people of the older persuasion seem to all have a certain scent? Yes, variations do exist, but there is no denying the odd mixture of mouthwash and mothballs accompanying every friendly old man that opens a door for me at the post office. It is similar in concept to how aged books seem to always have this mysterious odor. But the elderly are not made of trees, so this metaphor proves no apparent insight. Is it a special mouthwash for sensitive gums, a type of detergent popular in the 60′s, or a secret we will have to wait to find out? I am now curious what my smell will be when I become of the older persuasion… hopefully wine and cookies.
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