Junior Smells 2

Becky had been making some funny faces. Junior had been near her showing her how to do some stuff on her computer. Eventually in the quiet part of the afternoon she spoke out:

Becky: “What brand of washing powder do you use?”

Junior grins, as if he’s been waiting for something to relieve the boredom of the afternoon, and a question like this, out of the blue, was going to lead to something.

Me: “He lives with his parents, I doubt if he actually does his own
laundry.”
Junior: “Why do you ask?”
Becky: “I can smell something?”
Me:
“I can’t really smell anything much, I’m still bunged-up from my
cold.”
Junior: “What like?”
Becky: “Kind of a Chlorine sort of
smell”
Junior: “Is it a good smell or a bad smell?”
Becky: “It’s not a
shit smell…it’s a clean smell.”
Junior: “Where do you think it’s coming
from?”
Becky: “You!”
Junior: “You’re saying I smell? When do you smell
it?”
Becky: “When you stand near me. You’ve been standing near me earlier on.
It just seems to be when you’re close…”
Junior stands up and has a sniff
about.
Becky: “Like now…I got another waft of it then.”
Me: “Maybe it’s
his deodorant? What kind of aftershave have you got on today?”
Junior:
“Beckham.” (he says with a smile as if it’s great to spray himself with a scent
designed by a footballer rather than a perfumier)
Becky: “Naahh! That’s not
it…Beckham doesn’t smell like that.”
Me: “Ahh! It depends where he bought it
from. Maybe he bought it off the market. He could be wearing fake Beckham, which
could be watered down bleach, or anything.”
Junior: “It’s not.” (changing his
expression)
Needing some kind of closure on the matter he gets up and wafts
his shirt sleeve under my nose.
Me: “There is a weird smell…it’s like
aniseed.”
Chris: “Yeah!”
Me: “Does your mom put anything on your shirts
when she irons?”
Junior: “Maybe it’s my sweat reacting with something in the
shirt?”

The discussion comes to a close. I leave it a few minutes before I carry on:

Me: “In the bank on Saturday morning there was an old geezer that smelt of piss,
and we were about six feet away from him. It would be terrible if you got any
closer to him. Not a faint whiff of dry piss or anything like that, he smelt as
if he was covered in fresh urine.”
Becky: “That’s horrible.”
Me: “He was
an old bloke with white hair, one of those who’s facial hair grows virtually all
the way up to his eye sockets, stubble up to his eyes, and big
sideburns.”
Becky: “You hear that?…” (she shouts towards Junior) “You could
smell worse…You could smell of piss!”

I imagine he’ll have a shower before he comes in to work tomorrow. I’m going to sniff him to see if he’s changed his scent.