Things have been mighty quiet ever since Jim Hill and Ernie Pritchard cut a deal. Too quiet, if you ask me.
Hill, of course, is the owner of The Door Stop, your local cabinet door-making shop and reputed noisemaker. And Pritchard is the ADOT retiree who heads the organization known as Citizens Against Noise and Industrial Travesties (CANIT).
That's the outfit made up mostly of people who live in the Mazatzal Mountain Air Park just down the road a piece from Hill's factory. After getting pretty much the whole town in a lather over how much noise is too much, Hill and Pritchard up and cut a deal and told the rest of us to forget they ever brought the subject up.
I don't know about you, but these two guys in bed together is likely to last about as long as a Hatfield and a McCoy sitting down for a cold one. As Hill himself likes to put it, he and Pritchard probably won't be exchanging Christmas cards this year.
But I've come up with something to while away the hours waiting for this deal to unravel and the feud to re-commence. I got to thinking, if we can regulate the noises made by our fellow man, why can't we do the same with smells?
To get us started, me and the folks back in the Roundup/Rim Review production area came up with a whole passel of offensive odors that we believe should be part of a town odor ordinance:
What is it that makes every hotel room smell the same -- a Pine-Sol foundation accented with a delicate infusion of various industrial cleaners and solvents. We're not buying into the theory that it's because all these rooms have been scrubbed squeaky clean. Nope, we think it's because every maid in the world carries an aerosol can of Eau de Hotel Smell.
They say all that stuff is washed before you buy it. But bring your purchases home, take them out of the bag, and you are guaranteed to be overwhelmed by thrift store smell. This one is almost impossible to describe, but the discerning nose will sense an emanation of mold accented by just a hint of mildew. We're sticking hopefully with our aerosol can theory. If they make Eau de Hotel, why couldn't they also bottle the fragrance thrift store shoppers around the world have developed a love-hate relationship with? At least with my theory, they really might wash the stuff.
Why is it that fireplaces and woodstoves smell good, but we choke on the smoke from forest fires. Could it be the size thing? It's just hard to find anything redeeming in the smoke from 119,500 blazing acres. And then there is probably a fear factor associated with smoke from a fire that moves from 17 miles away to two in just a few days. Banning forest fires in the new town ordinance may not do any good, but it'll make us feel better.
I know, I know. It's our heritage. All I'm saying is if they can send a man to the moon, they ought to be able to come up with an odorless rodeo, devoid of that smell that is equal parts horse and cow poop, stale beer, and choking dust, with just the slightest bouquet of brats. I'm thinking the Payson Fire Department could come in every half hour or so and just hose the whole place down, audience included. It would provide the dual advantage of a rudimentary cooling system that would allow us to leave the Payson Event Center uncovered, thus saving the town big bucks.
I was going to say generic diesel exhaust, but one of the production people pointed out that 96.3 percent of all such emissions are produced by the most prominent vehicle in all of the Rim country -- the Dodge Cummins pickup truck. I say we round 'em all up and move 'em out of here.
- Body stench at long council meetings
Just attend one of these marathons and you'll see what I mean. Nobody can go that long without a shower, and it shows. In this case, the town needs to create a Department of Fumigation, which will come in to a meeting every two hours and spray the scent of cheap perfume all over the place. And for comic relief, how about having the delivery system be a miniature panel truck, out of which pour 14 or 15 clowns, each carrying an atomizer.