Senseless (Part One)

I am sure it’s one of those silly questions that every healthy adolescent in the universe asks themselves for no particular reason: If you had to give up one of your five senses, which would it be?

I asked myself that question entirely too often.

Now, I don’t mean to sound insensitive to those who were not born with all five senses, or have lost one along the way, but I think it’s a question that more fortunate kids ponder at some point. It’s almost as if we fear we don't deserve to be so lucky. Thus, the Sense Police will show up at our doorstep one day and say, “OK, which one can we take away from you?”

I gave the matter considerable thought mainly because I was just THAT paranoid about the Sense Police. I was also reasonably certain that they were headed by the scariest rock star of all time: Sting. (Tell me he isn't planning Armageddon in that picture. Don't stand so close to me, indeed.)

Anyway, it was always a simple matter to pick two senses that I would never give up (provided I had any kind of choice in the matter): sight and sound.

The idea of never being able to see an attractive scantily-clad woman, or even the next issue of The Amazing Spider-Man seemed like a foreign concept to the pre-teen version of me. And, of course, hearing may have been even more important because I couldn’t imagine being unable to enjoy side one of Led Zeppelin IV again. No more Dylan or Beatles? No more Haircut 100 or April Wine (well, that isn’t so much of a priority anymore, but you get the point). Such a fate would be unimaginably horrible.

Picking two more keepers required me to break the issue down by its details. How important was touch? The thought that always clinched the sense of touch as paramount was the memory of stealing second base on Hannah Hotchest in the sweet, blessed darkness of my hometown movie theater. (In case you didn’t notice, I used a fake name to protect the poor woman’s identity from the 14 people who read this blog.)

Thus, the decision always came down to the final two senses: taste and smell, which are very similar in a way. My first thought was, of course, food. I could never eat another Chocodile, Fun-Yun, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup or Slurpee (which is more like rocket fuel than a source of nutrition) with any gusto whatsoever! No #^@#ing way!

So, I always came down to the same conclusion: Who the Hell needs a sense of smell? My reasoning was simple: in such an event I could still probably taste food (though not as intensely), but I didn’t need to smell it. After all, the sense of smell does have a dark side, as we all know.

In fact, if I found myself without a functioning snout, one of my greatest fears in the known universe would cease to exist: public men’s restrooms.

Female readers cannot appreciate how devoid of decency such places can be. Put it this way, I would rather stroll through the gates of Hell, or the scariest cemetery in a galaxy full of blood-sucking zombies and fiendish snake creatures brandishing multiple spidery legs and thousands of razor-sharp fangs, than to set foot in a public men’s restroom.

When you walk into one, you immediately want to gouge your eyes out. Why? Because flushing is not a foregone conclusion in these hellholes. Seriously.

Still, I can live with such terrible sights because I can always avert my gaze. You cannot, however, aim for the porcelain target and plug your nose at the same time, which succinctly explains how this vile vicious circle came about in the first place.

If you are still reading after the previous paragraph, I would recommend that you seek professional help. I know I will.

Now, let’s rewind a bit to the numerous times I wished The Sense Police would simply take my sense of smell if they ever made a house call. Well, I had no idea that such thoughts would one day cause a hypothetical scenario to become reality. I kid you not.

After years of being confident that the sense of smell was the one to sacrifice, I had The Ammonia Incident and my olfactory abilities were never the same again.

Given, it was my older brother’s fault mostly (he, no doubt, worked part-time for The Sense Police), and I suppose my rampant stupidity supplied the rest of the blame.


To Be Continued Tomorrow...