Common Scents
by Alex Dermody
I was afraid of change until a stranger fixed me. That’s the truth. It was April, a warm Monday morning. The man limped inside the laundromat and dumped a basket of dirty towels into the machine next to where I was folding clothes. He first removed the shirt off his back. Then his pants. Socks. Finally, underwear. The now naked man tossed it all in the washer, whistling to himself while feeding the machine quarters.
I shielded my eyes. “Ah! You can’t do that!”
The man asked, “First time at Logical Laundry?” He pointed to a blue sign with pink letters: “BIRTHDAY SUIT ENCOURAGED!”
A woman entered the laundromat. She threw a bag of dirties in the washer, stripped nude, put her clothes in the machine, and started it. An old man next to the automatic teller stepped out of his clothes and sprayed bleach on his shirt.
“What is this place?!” I asked.
“A laundromat that makes sense! The clothes you’re wearing now, don’t you wish they were getting washed with the rest?”
He was right. My favorite pants, my favorite shirt, they wouldn’t get cleaned until next week’s wash. The realization caused me to swell with anger. “Awesome idea. Very smart. Now, can you cover up?”
The man wrapped himself in a robe. Voice concerned, he asked, “What’s wrong, kid? You got the energy of a popped tire.”
His genuine sincerity caught me off-guard. “Sorry. I’m just going through some stuff. Last month I quit my job to ‘chase my dreams,’ and I still have nothing to show for it. Plus, I had to move apartments yesterday, and I’ve never cleaned clothes at a laundromat. I guess seeing your balls broke me.”
“That’s a lot of change at once.”
“Yeah. Scary.”
“I spent thirty years living like you.” The man looked down at his leg. “Then one day a semi-truck hit my motorcycle.”
“Woah,” I said. The accident, the limp, the huge muscles. It’s astounding how stupid I can be. “You’re that professional boxer guy. You’re Vick Lynne.”
“Retired professional boxer guy, yeah. Now my businesses are my life. Besides five Logical Laundry locations, I also own a thriving raisin franchise. Have you heard of Rational Raisins?”
“That’s you? Incredible. Boxer turned entrepreneur.”
“Incredible is right. I’m lucky to be here.”
“How so?”
“My boxing background was tough to overcome. I fought change every chance I got. It wasn’t until I stopped fighting that I started winning.”
Before I could ask Vick what he meant, a Logical Laundry employee approached us. There were tears in her eyes. “Mr. Vick, sir. My son is sick. I need the afternoon off to care for him.”
Without hesitation, Vick said, “No problem. I hope Mark feels better soon.” The woman wandered off and, to me, Vick said, “She was the only person working today. There goes my afternoon!” But he didn’t seem upset. He seemed content, almost like altered plans were expected, maybe even welcomed.
A naked man in the corner of Logical Laundry began to yell at the soda machine, claiming his dollar was stuck in the slot. Vick acted quickly. He kicked the soda machine twice, and a plastic bottle dropped to the metal bottom. Vick handed the customer his soda. “There you go, Harry.”
Harry said, “Thanks, Vick!”
The front door to Logical Laundry flew open, and in crept a teenager. An angry Vick limped after the kid, yelling, “Nope! I told you, Antonio! Get the hell out!” Vick settled down once Antonio was back on the street. “That kid, he comes in here every week trying to sneak peeks at naked people. There are others, but Antonio is the biggest pervert of them all.” Vick breathed deeply, in and out. “Antonio is my reminder that nude laundromats are the future, that a drastic change has occurred, that acceptance is the only option.”
Vick’s message landed like an uppercut. When I switched elementary schools, I made new friends. They were awesome. And when my eyesight began to fade, I bought glasses. No big deal. Allergies, breakups, hair loss. Only after accepting the situation did things get better. “Mr. Lynne—”
“Please, call me Vick.”
“Vick. Can I just say that, as a fellow entrepreneur, your outlook is so refreshing.”
Vick Lynne raised an eyebrow. “Fellow entrepreneur, eh? You must have some ideas stewing.”
“A few.”
“Dazzle me. Pitch your best.”
Inspiration swam through my brain. Focus. “You know how skunks are the cutest animals?”
“The absolute cutest. Their only issue is—”
“The stench, the smell. You can remove a skunk’s stinker.”
“Very simple procedure I’ve heard.”
“My business associate — a board-certified veterinary surgeon in the state of New Jersey — would agree with you. A couple cuts, and skunks are the best pets possible.” I leaned in here. “But removing the stinker is old news. Dr. Pablo and I, we think people are missing an opportunity. What if, instead of removing the stinker, you transform it into something that sprays, say, lavender mist? Or Polo Black cologne?”
Silence, except for the humming of washers and dryers.
Vick Lynne finally asked, “Out front, the skunk leashed to the street lamp, is it yours?”
“Yes, fhat’s my prototype, Babe Ruth. His stinker emits the scent of Yankee Candle’s Ocean Breeze.”
Vick’s jaw clenched. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. “A new kind of pet... a pet that doesn’t smell bad but, instead, brings good scents wherever it goes...”
“The world’s first deodorizing animal. One that turns a stink into a wink.”
“I’ve got goosebumps,” Vick said, practically shaking. “I must get in on this. What do you need?”
My eyes went to the floor. “Money to get the operation started. Money for land, stables, skunks, skunk food, surgical supplies.”
“Okay. How does two million dollars sound?”
Knees buckling, I steadied myself on a nearby dryer. “That sounds... amazing! Unbelievable!”
“A company name, have you got one? Not trying to step on any toes, but this just came to me: Common Scents Pets. Get it? ‘Scents’ like ‘sense.’ It meshes so well with my Logical Laundry brand. And my Rational Raisins franchise.”
“For two million dollars? Makes ‘scents’ to me.”
Vick’s face grew serious here. “If we’re right about these skunks, it will forever change the pet industry. Are you ready for that?”
I watched a nude family of five pull on robes, the father dropping quarters in the machine. An elderly couple in their birthday suits folded pants and sweaters. I had a moment there in Logical Laundry, a breakthrough. It was time to stop fighting. I pulled off my shirt and pants, my socks, my underwear. I tossed it all in the washer.
Vick said, “You made the right choice.”
“Think so?”
“Know so.”
A happy shriek from outside Logical Laundry sent Vick and a still-naked me onto the street. A small crowd was gathered around the street lamp, gawking at my prototype, Babe Ruth. A wide-eyed woman petting Babe’s black fur said, “Aren’t you the cutest thing I ever did see!”
A man with a big nose sniffed the air. “This skunk, it smells like... like... Yankee Candle’s Ocean Breeze?”
“Our Father who art in heaven...” mumbled an old lady.
A white Ferrari parked at the curb. Out stepped a woman in a dress made of diamonds and rubies and sapphires and other precious stones. Accent vaguely European, she asked, “Whose skunk is this?”
I raised my hand, the breeze ruffling my chest and pubic hairs.
The woman said, “I will pay you fifteen thousand dollars, cash.” She flashed a bank bag with ‘$$$’ on it.
Vick turned so the crowd couldn’t see his smile. “Like I said, you made the right choice.” He held out a hand for me to shake, and as we shook I experienced an unforgettable mix of emotions. Part of me was relieved. Part of me was overwhelmed. But another part of me was simply ready for whatever would happen next, naked and no longer afraid.
I accepted the bag of cash from the beautiful and mysterious woman. I helped Babe Ruth into the backseat of the foreign sports car, and both of us headed for new and exciting futures.
Copyright © 2025 by Alex Dermody
