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That Certain Air (Vol.4, No. 10)

I don’t spend a lot of time picking out colognes.  In fact, since high school when my buddies and I thought that kind of thing was important, I can’t recall ever selecting a scent with any real conviction.  After Nancy and I married, I left the determination of fragrance to her.

On occasion, I have tried a new product.  I find the whole spray-and-sniff routine at the local department store a little embarrassing.  So my ventures in aroma exploration are confined to those little samples that come in the mail.  Had one of those experimental days today.

The cologne went on pleasant enough.  The results implied by the package didn’t materialize, though.  At least if I did appear younger, tanner, and more attractive to females, they were able to restrain themselves.  Perhaps it was because people are more naturally averse to pursuing wanton pleasure on Sunday.  Or perhaps the quantity of cologne wasn’t sufficient.  Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that I’m older, paler, and less attractive to females than I once was.  Significantly, Nancy reminds me that I have no need to attract other females.

What I did notice was that even I could catch a whiff of the new scent from time to time. 

A couple of weeks ago, I rushed into our local Subway to pick-up dinner.  The sandwich artist was alone in the restaurant.  As I approached the counter, the young woman hardly glanced up.  She was watching her hands as she pulled on her food preparation gloves.

“What cologne are you wearing?”

“I need a foot-long turkey sandwich on honey oat,” I ordered from habit.

“No, I asked you what cologne you’re wearing,” she was looking at me intently now.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  Uh, I guess it’s Aramis – that’s what I usually wear on weekdays.” I sniffed of my sleeve.  Nothing.

“Well, it smells really good,” her attention was drawn to her knife and the bread she was carving.  “I think I’ll get some for my boyfriend.”

All the way home, I did my best to catch a whiff of the fragrance.  Still nothing.  How could something strong enough to bring that level of attention from a stranger trigger no recognition from me?

It’s a common phenomenon.  Over time, our senses screen out the common place and the ordinary.

Yet, others notice.  When we think we’re at our most invisible level, someone is watching.  Regardless of whether I believe my actions are on display, they are.  And the details of my life tell a story.

The apostle Paul told us that we are the aroma of Christ to those around us.  My Subway experience shouts the need for me to be about a continual renewal of Jesus in my life – to never let my senses dull to him.  Who we are communicates who we serve.  We’d better not lose sight – or smell – of that.

Shine On!

copyright 2004 Joe L. Cope