Floyd Kelly

Oh gawd … Monday morning. I was trying to feel motivated for another work day, but the thought of it just left me depressed. It’s time to get motivated. My co-workers are hopped up on coffee this morning.

I hate to admit this, but my only escape, my only joy, is my addiction. I have a problem: I am hopelessly addicted to my Scratch and Sniff laptop. My day usually begins not with coffee, but by browsing the #Foodie hashtag posts on BlueSky for … ya know, the hard stuff. A food blogger posts a spicy crayfish boil? I see the photo and start scratching at my laptop screen over the image, filling my cubicle with the scent of cayenne. An artisan cheesemaker shows off a wheel of ripe Gorgonzola? OK! A few frantic scratches provides that sharp, funky aroma that makes my eyes water in the best way.

Unfortunately, my habit has consequences. After two years of scratching at pictures, the screen is worn out. It’s a disaster of overlapping scratches, a milky haze of digital scents. I’m now almost completely unable to read because of all the scratches, which led to me approving a purchase order for “100 hens” instead of “100 pens.” HR is still dealing with that, which is why my boss, Emil, approached me.

He walked up to my desk with a tablet. “Hey, I need you to look over these repor—” he stopped cold, staring at my laptop. “My god! It looks like your screen was attacked by a badger. What happened?”

Emil leaned in. “It’s completely opaque. How can you possibly work?”

“I can feel the data moving through me,” I said with a straight face. He wasn’t buying it. He ran a finger over the screen’s surface. “It’s all rough and sticky!” He then sniffed his finger, his brow furrowing before he sniffed it again. “Is that… Gorgonzola?” he whispered, his eyes wide. “And… shrimp?”

I froze. He became concerned. I thought he might fire me and panicked. In that moment, my addiction took the wheel. If I was going down, I was going down hard. While Emil stared, horrified, I went on a bender. I frantically scrolled through BlueSky, my fingers flying. I found a picture of a cherry pie and scratched, unleashing a wave of sweet fruit. Then, a greasy-spoon diner post: liver and onions. I scratched it hard, bulldozing the pie aroma with a savory, iron-rich funk. A red striped birthday cake with vanilla frosting, a platter of greasy bacon, a bowl of kimchi—I scratched them all! Woohoo! My cubicle filled with a chaotic, ungodly symphony of smells. It was glorious!

Emil just stood there, speechless, as I started scratching at a picture of a Thanksgiving turkey. The screen, unable to handle the sensory overload, began to flicker. With a loud pop and a puff of gray smoke, the screen went black. I stared at my dead laptop, my finger still poised over the ghost of a drumstick. Emil finally spoke, his voice a strained whisper. “What did you do?”

I looked up at him, my eyes watering from the lingering smell. “I think,” I said, “I sniffed it too much.”