Now, I know a lot of people out there seem to think the smell of gasoline ain’t great for your brain. They insist you’re fritzing out all your head circuitry with these evil airborne hydrocarbons, the equivalent of releasing a sack of rats into the restaurant kitchen or pouring a can of Coke into your laptop air vent.
And you know what? Maybe they’re right. I do fully agree that huffing gas fumes is really bad for you. That’s really not debatable. But the regular ol’ smell of gasoline just lingering around the fillup station? I say the jury’s still out on that one.
Now, don’t get me wrong: I have no idea why, when my dad pulled our old wood-paneled station wagon up to the Shell pumps, I’d love to get out and take a giant sniff of that hot, gassy air. But I know I did. Maybe I felt a bit like a woodsman stepping out of his cabin holding a cup of coffee, a baker pulling a tray of fresh, hot croissants out of the oven, or a wine tester swirling a big fat glass of Merlot before the big sniff.