The Briefcase

The Briefcase

I have a problem, not a monumental one; it is merely an aggravating issue.  Simply put, my briefcase smells like an old goat.  Sure, I have a story.

Many years ago, I started searching for a briefcase.  Not that I desperately need one.  I don’t require one; I just wanted one.  I spent some time looking around on Amazon; after all, I wouldn’t know of a place around here that even sells them.  There is not a significant demand for briefcases where I come from.

I did my due diligence, looked at many designs, and read positive and negative reviews.  I  finally settled on the one that I wanted.

{Excuse me for a few minutes.  I am sitting at the library while trying to write this post.  The yelping guy just walked in.  He is heading right for me.  This time he is hurling obscenities at an unknown interlocutor.  I may have to engage him.}

Many reviews noted that my briefcase was made of Morrocan leather, a fancy way of saying goat.  Consequently, the reviewers mentioned that the product smells strongly of an old goat.  The smell, many noted, is overpowering.

{He is back.  Roaming from aisle to aisle, still fighting with his unseen enemy.  He is circling me.  I wish he would go away.}

I researched the issue of goat leather and the problem of the smell that comes about from the curing process.  Most people claimed that the smell would disappear after a few weeks if you exposed the briefcase to sunlight.  Others argued that all you had to do was let it air out, and the smell would dissipate in no time.  No one stated that the briefcase would still reek six months after purchase.  Maybe I will write that review.

{He somehow grabbed a cup of coffee.  He is walking toward me.  He is grinning like a man who knows something I do not.  I am not overly concerned, but I am a little on edge.  The library is mostly empty.  There was a police car outside when I came in, but I do not see any security inside now.}

My briefcase still smells after six months of sunlight and air.  I do not know what an old goat smells like, but I do know what my briefcase smells like.  The odor is of a robust chemical variety.  I do not think it is going away.  I am the owner of a stinky briefcase.  I really like it, I use it, but it sure does stink.

{A woman, an older woman, probably in her 50s, just approached the yelper.  Is she in league with him?  What is her story?  Is she a social worker sent out to get this man some help?  Is she an undercover police officer?  I am not sure.  He is walking away from her, and she is following.  He is calling her every profane name he can think of.  He is not being clever with his insults, but he is loud.}

Some anonymous person, a helpful one, suggested that I dunk my briefcase in baking soda.  That will do the trick, they said.  I tried it and failed.  If I look closely, I can still see a few particles on the leather.  Another suggested I shoot it with Febreeze.  That’s the ticket, they said.  Sigh.  I can smell the case from my seat as I sit here typing.

{Two women just walked past me.  They are weathered.  My guess is they are here to charge their phones.  It is a gorgeous day, so they are not seeking refuge from a storm.  At least not one that is apparent.  The yelper has disappeared into the stacks.  He is unseen and unheard.  That is a happy combination.}

Is the stench from my briefcase overpowering?  It is pretty bad, but I can live with it.  Do I want to get rid of the smell?  Absolutely, but that appears to be a wistful dream.

{The yelper just approached the two women charging their phones.  I would say he seems troubled, but that goes without saying.  The women ignore him.  He mulls around for a bit and then walks away.  He is not walking toward my table, and that lets me let out a sigh.  He is in desperate need of help.}

The list of things I need to get done today is long.  I don’t need these distractions.  There was a time decades ago when I would seek out loud and angry places to test my powers of concentration.  Those days are long gone; my mind has a mind of its own.  It generally wanders where it wants, not where I tell it to go.  Then I smell it, the strong chemical odor coming from my briefcase.  Only the smell keeps grounding me, bringing me back to the reality of the library and the characters surrounding me.  I suppose it is time to go home.  At least for today, there is nothing for me here.