My nose knows and it is telling me that I need to write about Toronto’s garbage workers strike. We’re about to enter the fourth week. Negotiations between the mayor’s office and the union are getting overheated. Everyone is sweating over the details. The situation has become sticky. You see the problem? There is going to be a lingering smell no matter what the outcome.
One has to be taken with the manner in which Torontonians are dealing with the circumstances. I am particularly impressed with the entrepreneurial spirit that has risen up. For example, there are the Internet services that are on “dumpster watch”. These alert private citizens of locations where a fat juicy and, even better, empty dumpster is lying ripe for a drop-off. But you have to keep your eye out. The authorities are everywhere.
As for the information providers, the message is only up on the net for a very short period of time. It’s like in a spy novel. The signal has to be rerouted through Lisbon, Beirut and Moscow before it reaches its destination in order to delay detection. Then, of course, there are also the “take a bag of garbage to work” initiatives that are springing up. This is a whole underground movement that involves clandestine and possibly subversive activities.
In winter, Toronto acts like a protective thermal bubble when it comes to bad weather. Just north of the city, it can be snowing like mad. But once one hits the outskirts of Hogtown, the snow will turn to rain and the driving is generally much easier. In summer and in the middle of a garbage collectors strike, the opposite comes into effect. Then Toronto still throws off heat, but the result is smog projected outward and a brown haze that can be seen from a great distance away.
It is that olfactory cauldron that now has to be addressed. The best smells in the city reside in drug stores. That’s where one finds perfumes, deodorants and mouth washes. The mayor should get together with all of the pharmacists and come up with a plan. Mix up some ingredients, concoct an odour deterrent and drop it on the city from traffic control airplanes and helicopters. I’m sure the radio and TV stations would be willing to help out.
Care has to be taken, however, in the choice of ingredients. For example, the guys aren’t going to want their city smelling like Chanel No. 5 or Passion Flower or some other scent with overblown erotic overtures. Nor do they want “something that is strong enough for a man, but made for a woman.” On their part, the gals don’t want Toronto’s air wafting of Aqua Velva or Brut or Axe. Or do they? If it’s a masking odour, it’s better to go with something that is relatively neutral. I wouldn’t mind living in a perpetual Irish Spring.
Wait a minute. What am I thinking? The answer is obvious. Proctor and Gamble Inc. has an opportunity for an enormous and attention-grabbing marketing coup. They should produce a giant bottle of Febreze and spray it on the city in one shot. We don’t want to just hide the odour. We want to draw it out and disperse it. This way, the rest of Canada and our American neighbours downwind of us will be eternally grateful.
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My home and sometimes fair city also figures prominently in How Hot is Toronto?
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