Monday, June 8, 2009

Sardines

Okay, so this story takes us back to my first year of zal.
My room was 223, the one before the corner room.
So there I was, minding my own business (.....), when my roommates and I noticed over time a distinctly awful odor. We couldn't figure out what it was.
But let me tell you, it was the worst smell I could ever remember smelling, and I had a feeling I knew what it was, and why.
The room in the corner had a guy who always ate sardines.
I hate sardines.
Never actually ate them, of course, but how could I ever swallow one of those, especially if it smells so gross. If I had to choose between sardines and herring, I'd quickly eat a whole plate of herring before getting anywhere near a can of sardines.
So there always was this bad smell, because of the sardines he ate in his room.
But this one afternoon, the smell had exponentially increased. It was thousand of times worse. And I'm really not making it up. We couldn't stay in our room, even with the window open.
I ran into the corner room, rolling up my sleeves in case the sardine-loving bochur was gonna put up a fight with what I had decided to do.
Right away, I saw that the problem was the garbage. Basically, he had poured out the disgusting sardine juice (I'm getting nauseous just typing this) into his trash can, and hadn't taken out the trash in oh, about three or four days!! It was rotting in there, and he had realized this, and put a fan in the window, to blow out the smell. So his room actually smelled better than mine!! Our room was getting all the fumes, since the airconditioning pipe went from his room to mine.
I was left with one option.
I ran out of the room, backed up against the hallway wall, and took a huge, deep breath. I would need as much air in my lungs as possible.
After I focused my thoughts, I ran back into his room, grabbed the whole trash can, and, screaming at the top of my lungs, I raced down the hall to where we were supposed to dump our trash if the janitors didn't get to it, and threw the whole trash can into the closet, and raced back.
Of course, when somebody yells as if he was being chased by an invading army, heads poke out of rooms, and some boys bring out brooms, in defensive stances.
Being the bochur most of the others looked up to in times of danger and trouble (you can go ahead and snort), I tried easing their worries, and told them I took care of everything.