I wrote about this experience and submitted the story to Dr. Oliver Sacks (author of books such as Awakenings, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Musicophilia), but, understandably, I've not received a response. (I'm certain he receives thousands of stories each year.) I hope that readers here might provide some insight.
I suppose I had downed about half of the drink when I got to the office. As I entered, I was immediately struck by the odor that seemed to emanate from the hallway-adjacent room that held the copy machine. I had never smelled it before. After a few steps, I found myself distracted and a bit put-off by the odor of unclean carpet. There was a runner of carpet in the hallway and I made a mental note to suggest a cleaning. Like the copy machine, this again was an odor I had not sensed even the day before.
It was when I headed toward my desk that things started getting weird. It’s hard for me to believe myself, but I could clearly smell the difference between the computer at my workstation (a Macintosh) and those on nearby desks (PCs). Suddenly I could easily distinguish other odors at the different workstations, and associate them unmistakably with the people who usually occupy them. (I was as yet the only one at the office.)
I tried very hard to concentrate and restore mental order, but within moments became literally overwhelmed by the “cacophony” of smells around me. I needed fresh air. On exiting the office through the backdoor into an alleyway, I was not met with relief. Instead, I was accosted by an extraordinary range of smells. Even with a light morning breeze blowing, I could smell rodents, the contents of broken bottles, chipped brick, oil and wet paper as clearly (in fact more clearly–much more clearly) than if I had held each item within an inch of my nose.
But what was most astonishing was the breadth and complexity of the odors. Many things were familiar, but more were not. Or perhaps I should say that I was sensing them with a degree of detail that I had never before experienced. It was so acute, I could almost believe that I could distinguish, not just wet paper for example, but even differences among a variety of wet paper types, or the kind and quantity of ink printed on them. At the risk of sounding psychedelic, I can say that it seemed as my nose could distinguish odors as well as my eyes can discern color.
I sought out a public balcony that overlooks Puget Sound, hoping that the sea breeze would offer some degree of relief and, thankfully, it did. The smell was a bit more homogenized, although I could still pick out distinct “notes” of ships, seagulls and the like. I stayed there for twenty to thirty minutes, during which time, the acuity of my olfactory system slowly returned to normal. Incidentally, this corresponded closely to the length of time that I associate with the “lift” I get from my morning coffee.
I want to emphasize that I never had the feeling that I was experiencing phantosmia–if I correctly define that malady as smelling things that aren’t there, or having smell trigger other memories or senses. Instead, this seemed to be a case of genuine super-acuity. (Although of course I had no way to test that idea scientifically.)
I would be greatly interested to learn if others have come forward with similar experiences and–of greatest significance–if they had been able to determine the trigger for the event. (In my case, I can’t help but feel fairly certain that a compound in the coffee was responsible, but I have continued to be a coffee drinker and have never again experienced any episode remotely similar to the one I relate here.)
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