As you may know, outside of asexual activism and gigantic pride flags, I also collect video games. That means that I often also pick up other random video game related merchandise. I have whole shelves full of game tie-in novels, I have Sonic cereal, Mario toothpaste, and a Zelda car window shade.
But the random thing I regret buying the most was the Halo soap.
It seemed innocuous at first. Halo soap from the company that makes a body wash that actually smells like a pine tree, what could go wrong?
I opened the package, and it slammed into my nostrils with such force that it nearly knocked me over. It gave me an instant headache.
They describe the scent as "Valor and Victory". Apparently, that means some indescribable aroma that wants to body slam you and stomp all over your face until you give up on your Great Journey and take up farming on Reach.
Admittedly, I am rather sensitive to scents. Stuff like fabric softener makes me struggle for air, and eucalyptus will give me a migraine. But this... this goes beyond.
So I have this soap that smells bad, but it's for the collection, so I don't want to just get rid of it. Maybe it's just strong because it was in the shipping box. If it airs out, it'll be fine, right? I put it in a room I rarely enter, and leave it there.
Everything's fine for about a week. Then I notice a foul odor starting to permeate the hallway. It's the soap. The smell is taking over the entire upstairs of my house. This cannot stand. I grab a plastic bag and put the soap inside. Problem solved.
If only it were that easy. About a month later, the scent comes back. It is escaping the sealed bag and invading my house again. It is time for stronger measures.
In addition to the video games and the asexual activism and the giant flags, I also collect stereophotos. You know, those 3D picture cards from the early 1900s from the days before TV? Well, once I got a set of those that were over a hundred years old and possessed by the funk of the ages. Like the soap, I didn't want to throw them away (And I spent much more on them than I had on the soap), so I looked for options. Apparently, a common technique for dealing with malodorous relics is to get one of those big plastic tubs, dump a giant box of baking soda inside, and place the item inside for a period of time. So I did that, and within a month, it had exorcised the funk from the stereocards. It also worked on a flatbed scanner that smelled like cat pee (which is apparently something that some electronics smell like after a while for some reason). I do not know the science behind how this tub of baking soda works, but it is the real deal. Awful smells go in, magic takes place, item does not smell when it is removed.
So, I put this soap in the tub and close it up.
But the curse of this soap is stronger than the power of the tub. Within days, I begin to smell the soap again. I put the soap back into a plastic bag. That helps. But then, about a year or two later, there is a faint horrible smell in my living room. What is that smell? It is familiar, yet distant. I vacuum, it does not help. I search the couch cushions for a long lost pizza crust transformed into a host for countless organisms unknown to science, but come up empty. I even use a fabric spray that I rarely use because it's a got horrible scent in itself, but the scent just keeps getting worse.
Then I remember. The soap. The tub in which the horror had been sealed sits just behind my couch. The scent of this Halo soap has escaped the plastic bag, defeated the arcane magic of the baking soda, escaped from its prison, and is now loose in my living room.
I put it in another plastic bag, knowing that it will be ineffective in the long term, but may buy me enough time to come up with a permanent solution.
It does not. Having already figured out how to escape one bag, a second bag poses no challenge, and within just a few months, it is now taking over the living room again.
I do not know what to do. I put the soap inside the two bags into a third, thicker, reusable bag, but I know that will not be able to stand against the power of this Halo soap for long. I fear my only recourse may be to encase it in concrete and bury it in the desert and hope that future generations may be able to handle it when it inevitably emerges yet again.
