See this tweet? See the date on this tweet? May 29th. Two weeks ago.
Two weeks ago New York was mired in a mini-heatwave. On May 29th it hit 89, and it was humid as hell to boot. I got home from work that night and my apartment smelled awful. Positively awful. Like there was a rotting carcass of an alien life form doused in sulfur and then hidden in a closet under a pile of hockey equipment.
I chalked this up to the fact that I live in an old building and it was disgustingly hot and humid outside. Sometimes stuff just stinks, ya know? I did my best to get rid of the smell, leaving windows open, blasting the A/C, and buying multiple air fresheners to cover it up. Nothing worked.
I started searching for the source. It seemed particularly strong in the kitchen, so I moved the oven and fridge around a bit to make sure there were no dead animals caught under there. Took the garbage out every day. Cleaned the sink. Did everything I could. Nothing helped.
On the bright side, I started to become accustomed to the smell, only noticing it for a brief period each time I entered my apartment.
But Max came over on Saturday night and recoiled the moment he set foot inside. ”What the fuck is that?! That is awful!”
“It’s not that bad,” I replied. ”You get used to it quickly.”
Max walked into my kitchen to get a beverage, and yelled to me. ”You know, it kind of smells like gas in here.”
“No way,” I yelled back from the living room. ”It’s smelled like this for two weeks.”
I walked into the kitchen to check.
“…did you turn on the stove so I’d think I left the gas on for two weeks?”
“No.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You should probably shut that off. And open a window.”
