Brasso

There are some smells that remain with you for eternity because they immediately conjure up memories of good times or bad times you experienced in the past. For example, I can't bear the smell of gin or squash. Any proximity to the drink or the vegetable make me nauseous because... well, let's just say they each came up the wrong way once.

One of the most disgusting smells out there is probably the odor emitted by Brasso, that famous metal polish. Oddly enough, though, I find the smell not so unpleasant because it reminds me of Friday nights at Hargrave preparing for inspection on Saturday morning.

As if it were yesterday, I clearly visualize me and my Colombian roommate, Fernando Manrique, sitting at our desks rubbing the hell out of our uniform buttons, our belt buckles and our metal band insignia on our hats, using an old handkerchief or towel. The smell of Brasso permeated every room on our barracks, and it remained on our hands even after several washings.

I'd never even heard of Brasso before going to Hargrave. Now, every time I use the stuff to clean something around the house, I find myself reminiscing a little about long hours rubbing in a circular motion till my wrist ached.