They Could Call It Snipe and Swiff

They Could Call It Snipe and Swiff

Sometimes what I want to say and what I do say are two completely different things. Like years ago when I worked as a veterinarian’s assistant, I would often refer to a dog’s “flick and tea” problem.

Or, there was the time in the genetics lab when one of the technologists said “lymph noids” instead of lymph nodes. I have since been annoyed with the habit of saying “noids.” And once I asked the receptionist at the doctor’s office for the “stubber ramp.” It was shameful how we laughed hysterically in front of all those snifflers and sneezers.

As is customary this time of year, I shopped for my children’ school clothes. I stood in line at the mall with an armload of tops and bottoms and remembered the sales ad that mentioned a promotional gimmick.

“And how are you, ma’am,” said the clerk.

“Oh, I’m good. How are you?”

“I’m great. Is all this stuff yours?”

“Unfortunately, yes. By the way, do you have any of those ‘Scratch and Sniff’ cards featured in the newspaper?”

The young man looked at me like I had sprouted wings and tap shoes.

“Uh, well, we have these cards where we scratch them to see what extra discount you will receive on your purchase, but I’m not sure about the sniffing part.”

Of course, as soon as the words escaped my lips, I knew I had committed yet another of my bumbling blunders. And then the laughter ensued.

“Ho, ho, ho, hee, hee, hee, oh, man!” I chortled. “Yes, of course, no sniffing required.”

Then the clerk, who apparently was long overdue a break, joined me.

“Heh, heh, heh, ha, ha, ha, whoa, whoa, whoa,” he snorted. “Let’s see. Maybe we ARE supposed to smell them.” He lifted the card to his quivering nose. “Yep, smells like money! Hahahahahahaha!”

By this time, I expected the people waiting in line behind me to be less than amused with our giggle fest. But, the three women had joined us, tickled to the point of laughing out loud.

“I really think you’re onto something,” said the clerk.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said, “It could be the next great promotional tool. If your card smells like strawberries, you get 50 percent off your next purchase!”

“No, no, not strawberries,” corrected the clerk. “Too many people think strawberries and raspberries smell the same. It would have to be something like…”

The woman behind me cleared her throat. I think she had finally recovered and was eager to finish her shopping.

“Like peanut butter?” I proposed. The women behind me were still with us, because they nodded in agreement.

“You know, my roommate in college didn’t smell very good,” said the clerk.

Of course, what he meant to say was that he didn’t smell well. I envisioned both a stinking dorm room and a student with impaired olfactory abilities.

“He could smell spicy things, though. He was from New Orleans.”

My mind reeled with smell versus taste. How does one smell spicy?

“Anyway, those scratch and sniff cards. If you made them smell like hot sauce, they just might work.”

Much to the relief of the captive audience behind me, the clerk loaded my bag and asked if I would like him to call for the forklift.

“No, I can get it, but thanks,” I said. “By the way, how much of a discount did I get with that card?”

He dragged the small piece of cardstock beneath his nostrils.

“Smells like 10 percent,” he said.

“I expect you to call corporate office with our brilliant new concept,” I told him.

He had moved on to the next customer, saying something about “smelling nutty.”

When I joined my husband in the parking lot, I shared our “Scratch and Sniff’ discount card idea. He tried to listen but was deeply distracted by the overpowering smell of burning plastic. Which gave me another great idea:

Credit card companies should consider a “Swipe and Sniff” feature, a strong but gentle reminder of what that bill smells like a month later.

Perhaps they could call it “Snipe and Swiff.”