August 2010
‘Smells!’
‘Yes, sir,’
‘You’re wanted by the G.O.D. immediately. Look, you know how much pressure we have all been under since he decided to go global last week and, well, you’re just not coming up to scratch. Anyway, you had better go by jet stream and not wait for a cumulo nimbus – you know how unreliable they are since he decided on deregulation.’ The seraph, dressed in his sober official uniform, closed the door of Smells’ office with a smart bang, so smart that it knocked the nameplate on the door off: picking it up, the seraph replaced it with a sideways smile - Mr. B.A.D. Smells, Head of Department. ‘His job is on the line then since this is the fourth complaint in as many days’, the being mused as he disappeared back to the messenger pool at H.Q. in a cloud of white smoke.
Inside his office, Smells sighed, took stock of his room for what he thought could be the last time before being asked to clear his desk and thought what he could do. Then he left by jet stream: ‘Better get it over with as quickly as possible,’ he thought as he was deposited moments later outside the Great Overall Director’s oval office.
The door opened and out came Gabriel from the ‘Futures Department’, identifiable instantly by his bright-striped jacket and ‘barrow boy’ air of confidence and cheekiness. He was carrying a large file labelled A.R.K. stuffed full of what Smells could see were blueprints.
‘Hello, Smells, up before the beak again? You don’t seem to get anything right. Mind you, we’re getting so overloaded in Futures it is becoming impossible. I’ll be burnt out before I’m 130. Just finished this work on the Animal Rescue Karrier he needs and I was hoping for a bit of R & R (rest and recuperation), but no, I’ve got another deadline to get my head around. Immaculate conception if you don’t mind!'
‘A.R.K.? Shouldn’t that be A.R.C. Carrier is spelt with a ‘C’ isn’t it?'
‘Listen, Smells. It isn’t spelling you have to worry about. Your job is on the line and you won’t find it that easy to get another department at your age.’ Gabriel hurried off, muttering about Googling immaculate conception and seeing what he came up with.
Smells entered the oval office after knocking politely as was his custom. The G.O.D. was at the window looking out onto the courtyard. There was a noise of chiselling. The G.O.D glanced round.
‘Ah, Smells, I need a word. That young Egyptian lad we found on the Nile is proving his worth in Futures. Taken very well to stone masonry: only one ruined tablet before he got the hang of it. And that shepherd lad David has finally got the measure of slinging stones, although the bill for broken windows will have to come out of Departmental petty cash. But you, Smells. I had high hopes, High Hopes. You’ve disappointed me I have to say. I’d like to say something nice, Smells, but when I look at your record over the last period, well . . . I mean I know you’ve come good with ‘Odour’ and ‘Pong’ and got them into line, but we need more. Look at your other colleagues in the Senses Departments: they’re not having this trouble. You've got to think laterally. I’m going to give you one last chance, Smells, for old times sake. You and I have come a long way since the big bang and I don’t want to lose you. Look, take my advice. Take a look into ‘Futures’: have a word with Eve. Woman’s take on things might be just what you need. She can be a bit irrational but she can multi-task and that’s important now we’re international. And you know, there’s nothing like A Dame!!!!!’
Smells was going to reply but the intercom went. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but I’ve got Abraham again on Line One and he wants to make sure he’s got your instructions about Isaac right. You know he’s a bit of an old fusspot and checks and double checks . . .’
‘OK, we’re finished here. Cut along, Smells, and take my advice.' Smells turned and walked to the door.
‘Abe, if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times, you have got to have confidence in my judgement . . . '
Smells in no hurry waited for a nimbus, took his seat and despite the heavy traffic, was soon at ‘Futures’ asking for Eve. She was in the garden as usual and there he found her. Outwardly he found Eve a bit off putting: all that power dressing and clipboard efficiency, but he knew she had a soft heart.
‘Hello, Smells,’ called Eve quickly hiding a half eaten apple in the open ‘Orchard Fruit Catalogue Year 1 edition’. ‘What can I do for you? You’re not in trouble again, are you? If you go on like this, you’ll be up for redundancy and sent to you-know-where!’
‘The G.O.D’ sent me here because he thought you could help. Female perspective and all that.’
‘So coming up with ‘Odour’ and ‘Pong’ not enough for the old chap! It’s the young wiz kids now that are able to turn their hands to anything he asks. It’s all technology, Smells: you’ve got to get ahead of the game. Test the waters: know your markets. Why the other day that Egyptian he’s always on about now, the latest here today gone tomorrow type: working on instant combustion to burn off scrubland. Real sci-fi stuff: cutting edge. Heard his next project after masonry is to master natural disasters like plagues . . . '
Smells felt he was getting nowhere with his problem. Eve could go on a bit sometimes, so he boldly interrupted. ‘But what about my problem? Why he sent me to you in the first place.’
‘Oh, yes, sorry, got carried away. Adam’s always saying it will be my undoing! Why were you sent then? Oh, yes, you need to expand your client base . . . Let me get the grey cells working.’
Eve took a pencil from her bag and started jotting down ideas. She called it brain storming. Smells looked on in reluctant admiration as the words tumbled onto the blank order form of the catalogue. Suddenly he saw her write:
S.C.E.N.T.
‘That’s it, Smells. Why were you sent to me? ‘Scent . . . the opposite of ‘odour’. That’ll give you a whole new range, a whole new ball game.’
'Well, thanks, but shouldn’t it be spelt S.E.N.T., without the ‘C’.'
‘Smells, it’s a brand name like ‘F.C.U.K.’ It’s short, catchy and people won’t worry about spelling in eons to come. Don’t be so old-fashioned.’
Smells wasn’t entirely convinced, but he couldn’t think of anything better and so he thought he had better run with this and get back to the G.O.D. ASAP. And he did.