Big D

While moving over the weekend, way in the back of a shelf in the laundry room of my old house, I came across a can of “Big D” room deodorant manufactured by Big D Industries in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Now, I have never held the industriousness of Oklahomans in particularly high esteem, mainly due to the fact that I suspected the common sense of a people that live in a state that sees more tornadoes than most states see sunrises, but I have to admit that these folks make one mean room deodorant. While we were cleaning the house we had just moved out of, my wife complained about the stench originating from the downstairs bathroom (an odor that is mainly due to a three-year-old boy who is just learning to pee standing up and a thirty-five-year-old man who has even odds of hitting the right toilet when afflicted with a severe case of tequila-induced double vision). One blast of Big D however, transformed the reek of stale urine into the fresh aroma of wild cherry. This feat was amazing and made even more so by the fact that the can was almost 13 years past its expiration date.

Big D worked equally well on the garbage disposal and the trash cans and after a while, I began to believe that this stuff could be used on pretty much anything. I even used it in my car. I was so impressed by the product that I was actually compelled to read the label of the can. By doing this I was informed that Big D contained 1,1,1-Trichloroethane and alcohol, ingredients that I believe may have spawned some of my more memorable misadventures as a minor that will NOT be documented in the pages of The JEP Report until I am sure that the statute of limitations have run out.

The label of Big D also claims that it is completely safe - non-toxic, nonflammable and non-allergenic. It even points out that it has been approved for use by respiratory therapists in close proximity to their patients. In spite of these claims though, I cannot over-emphasize that this is an INDUSTRIAL deodorant and should not be applied to a sweaty armpit because you’ve been loading your car in 90 degree heat and 98% humidity before going out to dinner with family in a fancy restaurant while your trusty musk-scented Speed Stick sits safely packed in your new house seventy miles away. The shit burns worse than nuclear gonorrhea, does NOT wash off with water and leaves an angrily excruciating rash that lasts for at least 24 hours (and counting).