The Worst Smell in the World

Here is my latest entry for Courtney Miller-Callihan's super fun, summer-long writing prompt contest.

You may remember that she challenged folks to share their craziest re-imagining of their summer vacations a few weeks back (and this inadvertent yogini composed a modest Haiku an an entry). Earlier this week, I attempted to double the fun with a dual writing prompt contest entry. It seemed to be the perfect end to the writing fun.

But who can resist the challenge to write about the worst smell in the world?

Not this girl. That's for sure. :)

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The worst smell in the world wasn’t the acrid aroma of alcohol and vomit as my boss lay on the floor of the public restroom purging after her latest bender. Nor was it the industrial cleaners that seem to be an innate fixture of any public restroom. 

No, the worst smell in the world was, in fact, the stench of failure that clung to every fiber of my Ann Taylor aspirational suit and soaked slowly into every cell of my being. Of knowing that working my way through college and killing myself over the past ten years in a series of entry level positions had led only and entirely to this undeniable fact: I worked for an alcoholic, pill-popping lunatic who actively loathed me. There was no silver cloud in sight.