Thursday, October 25, 2012

This Apartment Reeks

You'll recall, perhaps, from my earlier posts, Toxic Shock Syndrome Part I and Part II, that one of the big reasons we moved to Brooklyn was to escape the obnoxious second-hand cigarette smoke that poured into our apartment on a daily basis from the two apartments across the hall.

Well, I'd been smelling smoke again -- marijuana mixed perhaps with the faintest dabbling of regular old death sticks cigarettes. It was always near the foyer and by extension, the desk where I sit this very moment.

I have a super-sensitive sense of smell. I'm rarely wrong. It's a curse, really, especially for someone living in New York.

Rayne, who has nearly no sense of smell or taste (thus his fondness for coating every food known to man with Sriracha), at first did not believe me.

Then he said he believed that I smelled it. (Read: But not that it exists.) I wanted to scream. It became my mission to prove to him that smoke was, indeed, seeping into our apartment from an unknown source.

Every day I would make him come over and stand in the exact place I was.

Now, inhale. I would say.

Nada. Maddening! Almost as maddening as the fact of the smoke. (Almost.)

Finally, it got so bad -- every morning and every night -- that even Mr. No-Nose could smell it.

I took to the stairwell like a sleuth and identified the culprits (one floor down) by sticking my super-schnoz into the crack of their door. Sure enough. Since the weather has turned cooler, I bet they have closed their windows and stopped smoking on the roof. That's just my guess.

Look, here's the thing. I do not give a flying fishtank if you or anyone else smokes weed. Knock yourself out.

But I have a child. And a not-unfounded preoccupation with second-hand smoke and air pollution from the highway 200 feet from my window.

Also, I loathe the smell of smoke. Any kind. My coats are starting to smell. My writing area reeks. Even my babysitter remarked on it.

I feel so defeated.

Has anyone had any luck with devices that clear the air of the smell of smoke (either for us or for our lovely neighbors)?


No smoking, please.
(Read: I hate you so much.)


Photo credit: David Hegarty