04/30/2024
PeteRalon007
58 Reviews
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PeteRalon007
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Signature for mountain trolls
Background: Perfumos send me samples, I then test the perfumes sent without any knowledge and describe my response - that of an inexperienced dilettante.
At the tender age of 16, the absurd idea that I should learn a trade sprang from my confused mind. The following 3 years as an apprentice glazier were the most horrible of my life so far. In winter, carrying 40-kilo windows up to the 6th floor of a building shell at minus 8 degrees; as soon as they were installed and the draught had stopped, I was off to the next draughty building site... I probably needed that to be able to appreciate my work as a couples therapist in every respect today. And to have empathy with people from the building site.
What I really remember: the smell of freshly set cement. Of freshly plastered plasterboard and sweeping dust in the shell.
And that's exactly what this blind sample in front of me smells like. Actually, it just smells like that and otherwise like a mud hut in Africa, in keeping with the motto of all conceptual artists: it's art, but it could be done away with.
I can still feel the peevish breath of my hyperactive and yet completely obdurate boss on the back of my neck as I crouch on the floor of the shell and sniff at the fresh screed and can hear his wooden eyes twist in their sunken sockets. "You have to do something!" comes out of his throat. Let someone tell me, this perfume doesn't trigger anything.
Now we ask the experts for applied nonsense science again (2.5 & 5): Small: "Smells tomish.". Big: "Mud kitchen". Then comes the following addition on the way to kindergarten: "The stone biter can take that!" (character in Michael Ende's Neverending Story). Let me suggest it. Signature fragrances for mountain trolls. Market niche discovered.
At the tender age of 16, the absurd idea that I should learn a trade sprang from my confused mind. The following 3 years as an apprentice glazier were the most horrible of my life so far. In winter, carrying 40-kilo windows up to the 6th floor of a building shell at minus 8 degrees; as soon as they were installed and the draught had stopped, I was off to the next draughty building site... I probably needed that to be able to appreciate my work as a couples therapist in every respect today. And to have empathy with people from the building site.
What I really remember: the smell of freshly set cement. Of freshly plastered plasterboard and sweeping dust in the shell.
And that's exactly what this blind sample in front of me smells like. Actually, it just smells like that and otherwise like a mud hut in Africa, in keeping with the motto of all conceptual artists: it's art, but it could be done away with.
I can still feel the peevish breath of my hyperactive and yet completely obdurate boss on the back of my neck as I crouch on the floor of the shell and sniff at the fresh screed and can hear his wooden eyes twist in their sunken sockets. "You have to do something!" comes out of his throat. Let someone tell me, this perfume doesn't trigger anything.
Now we ask the experts for applied nonsense science again (2.5 & 5): Small: "Smells tomish.". Big: "Mud kitchen". Then comes the following addition on the way to kindergarten: "The stone biter can take that!" (character in Michael Ende's Neverending Story). Let me suggest it. Signature fragrances for mountain trolls. Market niche discovered.
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