What smell will you never forget?

“GARY GET IN HERE!” one of them screams!

I see the guys knock. Knock, again. REALLY knock a third time. They try the door, it’s open. I watch them swing it wide and take a step back, back of their hands raised, placed against the underside of their noses… the universal DAMN THAT STINKS position. I perk up.

Looked around, decided to stay for a bit. Got a job as an Associate Editor on a weekly, The Dunnellon Times. So, hard charger that I am, was doing as many stories as possible on many varied subjects; including First Responders. So, riding along with an EMT team.

From an axiology/value theory point of view, how can one say that a diverse society is better than a uniform one, especially given the negative effects of diversity (racism, sectarian conflict, problems arising from extreme cultural relativism)?

I heard a little girl screaming, but never did figure out where she was or why she was screaming….

They enter. I take a few steps away from the squad, in the direction of the door. Can’t see inside from my angle. About 30 seconds goes by. I’m starting to relax.

I’m a young Marine just finished his first enlistment and thought I’d try civilian life. Ended up, after 6 months, headed to Flori-DUH to put my former fiance on the QE2 for England.

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All kinds of crunch noises and squishy grossness.

I cover the distance, wondering what they could have encountered where they’d need me, the Walking Death Machine, to intervene? I leap over the stairs and my left foot hits the carpet inside the door and… slips out from under me! I nearly go face-first over my own leg and I’m sliding across the carpet, which is soaked through with… well, the ‘wet’ parts of the deceased older lady that’s lying about 6′ inside the door, at the base of a ratty old couch.

Get a call to a remote location for a Wellness Check. Old mobile home. The guys head in. I’m leaning against the squad, watching. No excitement here. Camera hanging around my neck.

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Typing this, my brain dredged up that smell…

Me to the rescue! Bad-assed Marine for the save!

Instinctively, I throw my hands out in front of me and slide, well, straight into the corpse, up to my elbows.

Do Marines really not need sleep during combat training or in general? If this is true, how and why is this possible?

My pals thought it was hilarious. I spent the rest of the day, after being attended to, sterilized, bandaged up from the many nicks and scrapes I received (most from maniacally tearing my arms OUT of the corpse) and tamping down the desire to murder.

That’s a smell you never forget.