By Martin Hooper
I was washing my hands and about to move to the blow drier when a woman burst into the restroom. I stopped in my tracks and stared.
She was dressed in cords and carried a large canvas type bag. She had a hat covered in flowers with a tiny American flag stuck in the band.
There was also a particular smell which seemed to travel with her. Was that a whiff of thiol, the bitter-sweet fruity smell of cheap red wine, I wondered?
Her image is still vivid in my eye.
The guys around the restroom in various states of relief looked startled.
“Where is he?” she shouted. She looked around wild-eyed and started to kick the doors, one after another all the while shouting, “Where are you, Donald, you lousy skunk”.
By then wide-eyed, hands still dripping, and mouth probably open, I thought I’d be hiding in here too, lying low, if I was Donald.
“Come out, come out” she roared still furiously kicking and hammering on doors.
My quirky sense of humour cut in and I wondered if I should salute the flag! Then my better sense kicked in and I wondered if I should just make a run for it.
She got to the end closet door and gave it an almighty kick and roared, “Are you in there?”
A small skunk slid out from under the door.
It made a dash for freedom but she scooped it up, put it in her bag and was gone.
Only in America, I thought. Of course, of course, that smell, the mix of skunk thiols. Truly, Sulphur and Hydrogen should be banned from bonding.
I had to shake myself to see if I was daydreaming. I was. Still I wrote up my little story for you, the reader, to get a SMILE…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Martin Hooper enjoys writing fiction with a touch of humour. His travels often influence his writing. He is a chemist by profession, but in retirement, his main interest is local history.
CONTACT DETAILS: You can email Martin here.
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Ivor Steven
Well done Martin… I’m definitely smiling…haha … that skunk ‘Donald’
Mark Vincent
Well Martin,
Clearly a ‘whiff’ of political commentary here. What a strange little event and well recorded.
Thanks and you and Ivor have chemicals in your blood!
Is this what happens to (industrial) chemists when they retire; they write?